The Iron String
by theicemenace
Summary: When a new designer drug makes its way onto the streets of the US, Aaron Cross is drawn back into his former life as Outcome 5, and calls on a couple of old friends for help. Who could be committing such a heinous act and why? Aaron, John Sheppard and NYPD Detective Javier Esposito join forces to stop the culprit before more people die. Rated T for drug use/language/violence.
1. Chapter 1

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 1**

**Yukon Territories**

Nowhere else combines the conveniences of the modern age with the freedom and adventure of living on the edge of a vast, unspoiled wilderness in quite the same way as Canada. The climate was harsh, often not getting above freezing even in August. But August was long past and soon they'd all be celebrating Christmas and New Year's.

The snow was deep and thick, piled up around the sides of the log cabin, wood pile and shed. It made walking, staying warm and life in general difficult. On the other hand, the world looked like a wonderland with the sun glinting off the ice crystals making it appear that diamonds had been scattered over the landscape and in the trees.

A five-year old Dodge Ram extended cab pick-up squatted within the heated two-car garage, the warmth keeping the engine block from freezing. The first winter Joseph Martin had lived in his current location, he'd left the engine running twenty-four seven while he designed and built the special heating unit for the garage. The other half of the building housed a trailer and a snowmobile which he used for tracking the indigenous wildlife.

Joseph never locked his doors-living so far from everything made it unnecessary. Feet propped up on a softly cushioned ottoman, he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone banged on the door. Not knocked, like with a fist. This person hit the wood with the flat of the palm in such a way that Joseph knew that his or her strength had reached its limits. That they just couldn't make it another step. Just in case it was a ruse, he snatched up the shotgun beside his chair, approaching the door with caution. He reached over and yanked the door open, immediately aim at where he assumed the chest would be. "Oh, my God!"

The man lying in a heap on top of the welcome mat had been badly burned on the right side of his face, along his right arm and part of the right leg. The left wrist had been broken and was supported by a makeshift sling. He was wearing gloves so hopefully he hadn't lost any fingers to frostbite.

Though they were of a size, Joseph was incredibly strong. He rolled the man onto his back, catching him under the arms and dragging him inside and over to the heater that looked like an old fashioned potbelly stove. His clothes were torn and burned in places, and now that the heat was melting the ice, they became wet causing him to shiver. The first order of business was to get him out of them.

He dragged three blankets from the bedroom, dropping them beside the man. His guest might've been considered handsome at one time, but the burns had taken that from him. Plastic surgery could give it back, but he had to keep him alive long enough for the hundred and fifty-seven mile trip into town. From there he'd been flown to Fairbanks or Anchorage then on to a specialist in Canada or one of the upper U.S. states, Seattle most likely.

Using a pair of super sharp scissors, Joseph cut the clothing from his guest's body and covered him with the blankets while he removed the boots and socks revealing that there was no sign of frostbite here either. Though unusual, it wasn't unheard of, and Joseph counted the man lucky. Hell, he was lucky to have survived whatever had happened to him.

His visitor must have been injured in the explosion he'd heard the day before. At first Joseph thought it was a controlled avalanche in hopes to keep a bigger one from happening. Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe this guy was the pilot or passenger in a plane that crashed. The sheriff's office hadn't contacted him on the HAM radio and speculation was useless until he regained consciousness, so Joseph tucked the blankets around the man and went to heat up some of the leftover stew from dinner the night before, and wait for his guest to wake up.

**Alamogordo, New Mexico**

**Fifteen Months Later**

"That's healed _very_ nicely, Mr. Smith. There shouldn't be any lasting numbness." Dr. Bennett pulled off his latex gloves and rolled them into a ball as his patient sat up. "You won't need more surgery."

The patient stripped off the hospital gown covering the upper half of his body. The lower end of the barely noticeable scar on his right side slipped under the edge of his jeans. He put on his shirt, buttoning the front and tucking it in while the doctor continued to speak. What he said made no difference to Smith. This would be the last time they'd meet under any circumstances.

"…finish the current round of antibiotics and you're done. In record time, I might add. Most people who come to me need several surgeries to complete the grafting and reconstructions, and experience some sort of negative side effect. You, however, have shown no signs of complications. No setbacks of any kind." Bennett pulled the wireless keyboard close and began typing.

"I've always healed quickly, and I appreciate you allowing me to see you this late. I don't want the board of directors to think I can't handle the work."

"Don't mind at all, Mr. Smith. My wife passed on a few years ago and we never had children. It's just me and the dog."

As he attached the cuffs, Smith kept his eyes on the monitor, reading along as Bennett typed. His company was small yet steadily growing. He expected they would increase their profits by thirty-two percent in the next quarter with similar increases going forward. Soon they would be a household name. At least that's what he told the doctor.

When finished dressing, he yanked a single glove from the box on the counter and pulled it on. From his pocket he took a sealed container that held a small amount of blue ointment. He swirled his index finger in the substance to liberally coat the end, recapped the container and dropped it back in his pocket as he quietly approached Bennett. It hadn't taken long to gain the doctor's trust so he thought nothing of the fact that Smith was now standing directly behind him. "I'm sorry to hear that. Does someone look after your dog when you're gone?"

"My housekeeper. I'll be taking some time off soon then we'll go somewhere that's dog friendly. Take long walks or do nothing at all. His name's Yogi. Not that he's smarter than the average bear. It just seemed to fit. By the way, thank you for donating the upgraded computer and monitoring systems to the medical complex. It's made us ninety-eight percent paper-free. And the program that renders the tablets inert when they're taken off the hospital property has cut equipment losses-s-s…"

The last word hissed from Bennett's mouth when Smith swiped the ointment over his neck. The doctor was dead within seconds the fast-acting poison. "Sorry, doctor. Even with patient confidentiality, I can't take the risk that this will get out. My identity has to remain secret. No one can know that I'm alive or what I look like."

Smith let the body fall to one side, replacing Bennett in front of the computer. He inserted a thumb drive into the port, typed a few commands and within seconds, every file for one David Smith was destroyed, but it didn't stop there. Using a type of code he'd created just for this purpose, he sent the virus out to the Internet to hunt down and remove all mention of this particular David Smith. The moment a computer was turned on, it would attack. Soon, there would no longer be any record of the surgery, blood work, MRI's or any other tests or procedures that had been performed on a man matching his description.

It helped that he looked nothing like he had before the event that changed his life forever. He hadn't been killed outright, and that alone was a miracle. That he hadn't died of exposure or his injuries was the second miracle. However, finding Dr. Bennett wasn't. Smith had specifically sought him out when he moved to Alamogordo because he'd wanted the best and most discrete to restore the burned and scarred areas of his body. The photo he had given the doctor bore almost no resemblance to his real face, the one he'd been born with. While he had to dye his hair and use contacts to change his eye color, the rest was easy and much more permanent.

Pocketing the thumb drive, Smith picked the doctor up, carried him into his office and placed him behind the desk where he'd be found when the staff arrived in the morning. An autopsy would show cause of death as a stroke.

Retrieving his jacket from the examining room, Smith shrugged into it on as he entered the stairwell. On his way into the building for his appointment, he'd taken care of the cameras. He got into his car, opened the glove compartment and took out a tablet. With just a few commands, he restored the video feeds in the medical building to normal functioning knowing that security had seen nothing amiss.

Driving through the streets of Alamogordo, Smith, whose real name had been taken from him and replaced with another several years ago, went over the plan in his head again. He followed as many random threads as he could to determine the most efficient conduit to achieve his goal: the disgrace, dishonor, and eventual death of those who had ruined his life.

Less than thirty minutes later, he parked and climbed to his apartment on the third floor. The windows faced east so he could see the sunrise over the mountains in the morning. It was dark now, but the view meant nothing to him as he sipped a cold beer and ate cold pizza while plotting his revenge. Tomorrow he'd be gone, leaving behind everything that reminded him of his time here. All but the clothes on his back, the computer…and his new face.

Most nights, he stayed up to work on his research, but tonight he would sleep and be gone before the sun rose. The manager wouldn't care that he left without notice. The rent was paid up until the first. There was plenty of time for the place to be made ready for a new tenant.

**Nashville, Tennessee**

**Eighteen Months Later**

After Manila, Aaron and Marta spent the next two years on the run, never staying more than a few weeks in any one place. Not long after their daring escape from LARX-3, they professed their love for each other, and while he would always care for Marta, those feelings had dimmed once they were home. Without the constant threat of danger to bind them together, they found their relationship had little else, aside from sex, to keep it going.

Wanting something as different as possible from his previous profession, he'd trained to become a contractor. To make something from nothing but a pile of lumber and tile, turning it into a bathroom, kitchen or playroom, soothed him. Rebuilding a home that had been allowed to flounder in years of neglect and making it livable again reminded him of what had been done for him. Like the homes he worked on, he had been rebuilt, remade into who he'd been under Byer's command, and would never go back.

The feel of the wood as it took shape under his hands satisfied him in a way he needed at this time in his life. Hammering nails, cutting and fitting marble, tile or Formica. Wiring an entire house then flipping a switch and seeing everything light up. The smiles on the faces of clients when he took their ideas and brought them to life filled him with pride in his accomplishments.

And using a nail gun beat the hell out of the real thing any day. He still kept them around though. Just in case.

Long before entering Outcome, even before enlisting in the Army, he remembered getting physically ill watching a nature program where a lioness chased down and killed an injured gazelle. Then came Outcome, and suddenly _he_ was the killer. Not like a lioness who only did what she had to, what instinct told her to do. _He_ did it under orders. At least the lioness had the stones to meet her prey head on. His job was to take out the target without being seen or getting caught, leaving no evidence behind. The ones he killed never even saw it coming. Alive one moment. Dead the next. No in between. One…then zero.

As for Marta… She worked for one of the top pharmaceutical companies in the world and spent much of her free time with the cream of society as well as the movers and shakers in politics. Policy makers, the rich, famous, and sometimes even the infamous.

Aaron would come home smelling of sweat, sawdust and dirt wanting nothing more than to take a long hot shower, eat dinner and get into bed with the woman he loved. But instead of the quiet evenings he envisioned, more often than not he would come home to find a note from Marta telling him not to wait up. Others, there would be a voicemail message on his cell telling him she had to work late.

She told him repeatedly that it didn't matter what he did for a living, and she even believed it herself. At least in the beginning. But not once in the time they'd lived together after returning to the U.S. had he been invited to attend one of the black tie affairs at which her company insisted she appear. Places where one went not to have fun, but to see and be seen with and by the elite of the community. The people from whom the company would solicit vast sums to keep their research state-of-the-art. That last night he asked why. She just shook her head and walked away, muttering that she was too tired to talk.

That hadn't been the first time or their first fight. Over the months, their disagreements had increased in frequency, duration and intensity. More often than not with him being the one to apologize even when he hadn't been in the wrong, and usually on the advice of his former boss. The man had been married for more than forty years and Aaron figured he knew something about relationships between men and women for it to have lasted that long.

The enhancements allowed him to see and hear things that were invisible to others, but he had ignored the evidence that told him this was not the way it should be between two people who loved each other. His eyes had finally seen what his mind had been trying to tell him. That night, embarrassment and guilt were in Marta's eyes and her bearing. He realized it had been there for some time.

He had planned an elegant dinner at her favorite restaurant that night, Lavendou Café du Monde. Had even rented a suit. Seeing his reflection all decked out in the store, he had to admit he cleaned up pretty good. Dinner and dancing, followed by a romantic stroll along the concourse, stopping to rest at the fountain, where he planned to propose.

Instead of celebrating their engagement, they had a huge fight that ended when she threw him out with little more than his toothbrush and the clothes in his "go" bag. He called her a few days later and to his surprise, she'd answered causing him to hope they'd soon be back together. But it wasn't to be. After asking for his current address, she begged off, and the next time he called, the number was disconnected. A week later, he came home to find boxes stacked on the stairs in front of his garage apartment. The return address was a post office box in California making him wonder if she'd moved.

It would be easy enough to get her address and phone number, but if she didn't want to see him, what would be the point? And making a scene at her job in front of the people she worked with would only fuel the anger and resentment they had toward each other.

So Aaron moved to Nashville and hired on with a renovating firm. Within six months, he'd saved enough money to make an offer to buy the company from his employer. The man, in his late sixties and ready to retire, had jumped at the chance, even going so far as to co-sign a loan for the balance.

Having just left a meeting with a new client, Aaron was flush with success at winning a project large enough to require the hiring of additional employees. Scrolling his contacts, he dialed Tony as he returned to his truck. "It's Aaron…yeah, we got it. Told you we'd…."

As he climbed into his truck, he turned the key just in time to hear the tail end of the news. He reached out to turn off the radio, stopping to listen when the subject seized his attention. "Hey, Tony. I'll call you back."

Scanning the stations until he found another news program, he listened raptly to the anchor recount the number of deaths attributed to a new designer drug that was making the rounds in some of the smaller big cities. From the perspective of one who'd gone up against the Mexican drug cartels and had come out of the game with his ass still intact, it angered him that a new player was now moving into the void he'd created. And the list of side effects rang some really loud bells. They were very familiar to one who'd gone through them.

It was a terrible thing, this new drug. He also knew that one person, man or woman, _could_ make a difference, though he had no wish to be involved in that life again. The creator of the drug, called Trance for the euphoric effect it had on its users until the side effects kicked in, had to be someone he knew or someone who'd been involved in the program. Of the doctors who had survived the massacre, none came to mind who would misuse their knowledge in such a despicable manner. Especially not Marta.

The former Outcome agent called his office manager, a petite, fiery red-head named Frankie, to let her know he would be out of town for a while with no way to be contacted, maybe as much as a month. She was to have Tony take charge, go through the resumes in their files and hire five new guys, get the background checks and drug testing completed so they'd be ready to go when the new project got underway in six weeks.

If something happened that he couldn't be back by then, Tony was more than capable of seeing to it that the work got done on time, within budget and met or exceeded the building code standards. Aaron didn't anticipate that happening, but it was best to be prepared.

Going out to the garage, he activated the door opener, ducking under before it had rolled to the top. He pulled the truck inside, locked it and all the doors and returned to the living room.

Opening the hidden trap under the bedroom rug, he descended into the basement, his secret lair, as it were. Electronic equipment filled tables and shelves alongside tech manuals that had been discarded once Aaron had read and committed them to memory. Sitting down at the main terminal, he began his research into Trance. So far, only a few cities had been hit. But there was something about the witness reports that bothered him.

Most users experienced minor flu-like symptoms, got well and reported feeling better than they had in years. Stronger, more aware of everything. Others experiences a blah feeling followed by euphoria-the reason it had been nicknamed Trance-and increased sensitivity to light and sound. Still others, thankfully just a few, had become so ill they died, usually due to a subdural hematoma. The autopsies showed that these individuals had inherent weakness in one or more blood vessels in the brain. If they hadn't died from taking Trance, they'd have had a stroke at some point in their lives. There were also a few who reported the euphoric sensation, but it had no lasting effects.

When he stopped to rub his eyes, Aaron discovered that he'd been sitting at the computer researching and compiling data for almost a full day without stopping. He got to his feet, working the kinks out of his body and stretching muscles not used to staying hunched over a computer for long periods. His bladder twinged and he went upstairs to use the first floor bathroom before he got something to eat. The 'fridge was nearly empty so he picked up his landline and called the Italian restaurant up the street. The owner answered, switching from English to Italian when he realized it was Aaron. The place wasn't open, but Mario always made an exception for Aaron since the day he thwarted an attempted robbery.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the back door. Aaron accepted a bag surrounded by the aroma of tomatoes, garlic, basil, oregano…he sniffed the air…and nutmeg. That meant Veal Scaloppine with Asparagus Cream and Tagliatelle Bongole. He put the veal in the refrigerator and carried the rest of his booty down to the basement to continue his research.

**Several Days Later**

After sleeping all night and a good part of the day, Aaron quickly filled a duffle bag with the things he couldn't do without then shoved his computer into the backpack. Going out the back way, he walked to the nearest used car lot, paid cash for a beater vehicle. It had just been traded in that morning, but aside from a full tank of gas, he declined to have the vehicle examined by the mechanics. He tossed his bags in the trunk and peeled out of the lot.

Using the high-end SmartPhone he'd upgraded himself, he accessed one of the all-in-one travel sites and booked the next flight to Colorado Springs, stopping on the way to buy a map of the United States. Back in the car, he pulled into traffic, flipping on his blinker when reached the highway that would take him to the airport. Pulling into a long-term parking facility, he locked up and passed the keys over to the attendant. He swiped his card and passed a finger over the tablet presented for his signature then jogged to catch the shuttle to the terminal.

The shape of his cell phone pressed against his thigh where he'd shoved it into the front pocket of his pants. The urge to call the woman he'd once loved came close to overwhelming him, but he wouldn't. Didn't dare, even to warn her to be careful. If the person or persons responsible for the "mysterious deaths" around the country didn't already know about her, calling would draw attention. And if they discovered her existence, she could be used against him. He was done with that life. Never again would he allow another to control every aspect of his existence the way Outcome had. Just as soon as he stopped whoever was poisoning the people of America.

Accepting a drink but refusing food, Aaron used a Sharpie to mark on the laminated map the cities, number of deaths and comas, along with the dates. It didn't take long to see a pattern begin to emerge. He could do this alone, just not easily. There was someone he could turn to for help, Jason Bourne, but Jason was out of the country. The man he had in mind would come to his aid, no questions asked. He sent a text, not knowing if this man would even be in a position to help. The phone vibrated in his hand.

_Long time, no text. What's up?_

The message lightened his mood somewhat. Then-Air Force Captain John Sheppard, Aaron, and Sergeant Javier Esposito, a sniper with Special Forces, had joined together on a mission in Afghanistan several years ago when he was still Outcome Five. The op had gone sideways in a big way long before Byer arrived to take control. With Sheppard's and Esposito's help, Aaron put a hastily concocted plan B into action. It hadn't gone off as well as the first should've, but the job got done.

Since Fayzabad, this was only the third time the two men had been in contact. The first had been a few months after escaping from the asset in Manila. Marta had come down with appendicitis and, with her unable to work and Aaron's job prospects slim, they'd needed money to live and travel.

His phone rang within minutes of sending the text. The voice on the other end had been business-like in his announcement that two hundred-fifty thousand dollars would be waiting at the Bank of Palermo in Italy under the name David Rossi. At least Aaron _thought_ the person on the phone was male, but he couldn't be a hundred percent certain. He only knew it hadn't been Sheppard. And no mentioned had ever been made regarding paying the money back.

The next contact was when the couple had returned to the U.S. after nearly two years on the run. That time it had been in the form of a job offer from someone named Kevin King who worked for Sheppard Industries. The thought of working in an office didn't appeal so he'd turned down the generous proposal along with the offer to lend him money to get started in whatever business venture he had planned.

Aside from the men who worked for him, Sheppard was the closest he had to a friend. And Jason Bourne, of course. The fact that they were the last of their kind had drawn the two ex-government agents together as friends in a time when they both needed someone who understood what it was like to act purely on instinct in tense situations.

_Storm's coming. A big one. Wouldn't want you to step in something nasty, but I could use some help. _Holding the phone in one hand, Aaron waited for a response, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when it came.

_Don't mind the rain. I'll wear boots. _

Aaron used his thumb to type the answer. _Make 'em hip waders._

_You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you? Red Wings vs Stars._

He didn't answer the code because none was expected. Shutting off the phone, he boarded the plane, took his seat and buckled in. Soon, they were in the air.

When they arrived at the airport, Aaron shoved his hands deep in his pockets, awaiting his turn to board the hotel shuttle behind the group already in line. The weather was chilly and damp with nearly everyone in the same pose, shoulders hunched against the wind, hoods of their jackets or hats pulled low in the front as the huge van pulled away from the curb.

~~O~~

The infirmary was quiet now, but an hour ago, that hadn't been the case. Sergeant Waller had reported to the physician on duty exhibiting symptoms of a flu-like illness along with sensitivity to light and sound. Within a few minutes of his arrival, he passed out and fell into a coma. Dr. Lam rushed the tests and went over them in detail with her staff. The only anomaly they found was in the presence of increased neurotransmitter and oxygen production in the brain scans. There was also amplified brain activity as though he were processing an excess of internal and external stimuli.

Mitchell led the team that searched the young Marine's quarters. Striding into the infirmary an hour later, he handed a small plastic bag to Lam. "Found these in Waller's room. I questioned his squad and his friends, but so far no one seems to know where he got 'em. He just came back from leave. Might've gotten them at home."

Lam handed the bag to one of the medical techs. The man hustled from the room to have them analyzed. "I'll let you know what we find."

"In the meantime, I'm gonna give them time to think it over, let the pot simmer a bit then question 'em again."

Resting her elbow on the desk and dropping her head into her palm, Lam waved at the monitor on the wall showing Waller's test results. "Just don't do anything to them that I can't fix."

Coming around the desk, he crouched next to her chair, his right hand urging her close enough to kiss. "Wouldn't think of it, darlin'."

"Cam! What if someone sees us?"

He grinned when she pushed him away. "So what? I'm allowed to have a girl."

"You're also in charge until Mom and Dad get back from their second honeymoon. Now go. Be in charge. I'll call if there's a change in his condition."

"Guess this means we're not havin' dinner in town tonight." With a sigh, he stood up to his full six feet plus-with boots. "How 'bout I bring us a couple of sandwiches from the Mess Hall?"

Lam gave him a weary yet affectionate smile. "And coffee, please. Lots of it."

"Will do. I'll even throw in a couple of Grandma's macaroons." Lam followed Mitchell out to the ward to check on Waller and the other patients. Mitchell waved to the leader of SG-4 still recuperating from surgery. Colonel Hooper flipped him off in reply.

~~O~~

Colonel John Sheppard hitched his duffle bag higher on his shoulder, swept his eyes around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything then left for the 'gate room. He was headed for Earth and vacation with his family. Though he tried to stay positive about the event, he couldn't help being just a little apprehensive about spending time with his family, and about being away from Atlantis for over a month. Not that he thought Woolsey'd find out they could get along without him. Just that he wasn't used to relaxing and taking life easy. At first he thought it would be a welcome change from the constant threat of the Wraith. But that wasn't it.

When Atlantis returned to Pegasus, Todd had been dropped off on a planet with a Stargate so he wouldn't know their ultimate location. The choice had been made not to return to New Athos under the assumption that it had been found by the Wraith factions roaming Pegasus and still trying to find their way to Earth. Taking over Atlantis would give them all the intel they needed to do that. Assuming, of course, that the faction destroyed over Earth hadn't shared what they knew with the others. It didn't seem likely. Atlantis had stayed on Earth for eighteen months and there had been not even a whisper of the Wraith.

Choosing to set it all aside for now, he joined the thirty or so civilians and military rotating back to Earth for leave, vacation or reassignment. Turning to look up at the Ops station, she saw Chuck at the railing waiting for the word, so he gave it. "Dial Earth, Chuck."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 2**

"Dialing now, Colonel." Chuck nodded over his shoulder to one of his subordinates and moments later, the 'gate dialed. The wormhole whooshed from the center, settling into the rippling pond illusion. The civilians rotating back to Earth didn't wait to be told they could go. They just stepped through the event horizon, each passage making a sound that, to the Air Force officer, sounded like splashing. Sheppard gestured for the other soldiers to go ahead of him then followed them through.

On the other side, his boots rang with each step as he descended the ramp. Above, Sheppard could see Mitchell and the ubiquitous Walter watching the proceedings. Siler stood beside him not saying a word as Walter's voice came through the PA. "_Welcome back, everyone. Corporal Sanchez has your travel arrangements ready. Unfortunately, not everyone could be accommodated today."_

The line moved, and Sheppard stood face to face with Corporal Sanchez. Though her name might lead one to think she was from Spain, Mexico, Puerto Rico or some other Spanish speaking country, the young Army soldier had very short blonde hair and light brown eyes. And she was tall, just a couple of inches shorter than his six feet with a serious expression. Her nose was just a little crooked, as if it had been broken and reset a long time. "Colonel."

"Whatcha got for me, Corporal?"

"Couldn't get you out until tomorrow, sir. I have a room assignment, and you can check a vehicle out of motor pool, if you'd like to go into town."

One side of his mouth turned upward. "No sweat. A road trip sounds like fun. Can I get a ride to the nearest car rental?"

He didn't get the entire sentence out and she was already shaking her head. "There's a film festival in town this weekend. Every rental agency I called was booked solid for the next ten days."

"_Daedalus_?"

"Not due back until tomorrow. _Hammond, Odyssey, Phoenix_ are all on extended deep space missions. The commercial flights are booked too."

Holding in a sigh, Sheppard asked, "Don't suppose I could borrow a plane?"

Sanchez opened her mouth to respond, snapping it shut when Mitchell's voice came over the PA. "_Sorry, Sheppard. And don't give Walter's trainee a hard time_."

Twisting his head around to look up at his friend, Sheppard let the smile stay in place. "Wouldn't think of it, Mitchell."

Sheppard turned down Sanchez's offer of a room in lieu of the apartment he kept in town for emergencies just like this, thanked her politely and trudged down the hall managing not to growl at anyone on the way to the motor pool. His phone vibrated in his pocket, he answered a couple of texts then put the phone away.

The drive into town took no more than fifteen minutes. Pulling into the sports bar next to Ray's Bluefish, a seafood restaurant doing a booming business, he entered the smoky club and took a seat at the bar. He ordered something on tap while he looked at the menu, paying little attention the noise and confusion around him.

~~O~~

It was just after 2000. Not late by any means even at this time of year when it had already been dark for more than two hours. Around Aaron, people of all ages and walks of life sat in attitudes of boredom, fatigue, apathy or all three. Some carried bags, others briefcases, backpacks, electronic readers or phones. Aaron carried the backpack he'd purchased recently to replace the old one when it finally fell apart. He dropped into a seat in the rear corner of the airport shuttle and pretended to stare out the window. Though he seemed disinterested in his surroundings, he was anything but.

The reflection of his bearded face in the dirty glass, almost unrecognizable even to himself, stared back, lines of weariness radiating from the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. He felt a yawn begging to be let free and forced it down as the shuttle reached the hotel. There had been no vacancies at any of the hotels inside the city limits, so instead of entering the hotel, he flagged down a cab and gave the address of a sports bar.

After paying the fare, Aaron went inside the noisy bar seeming to be only interested in the game displayed on the plasma screen above the bar. Shucking out of his backpack and jacket, he dropped both in the chair to his left and took a seat. He ordered a beer, a roast beef sandwich with fries and covered a yawn with his fist, paying no attention the people around him aside from the bartender.

~~O~~

Sheppard spared a glance to the left as the next stool was taken by a guy who looked like hadn't slept or shaved in two days. The bartender brought their orders at the same time and they broodingly ignored each other.

Not a hockey fan, Sheppard watched with only part of his attention until the commercial break was interrupted by a news report. Stopping with a fry halfway to his mouth, the newcomer said, "Turn that up."

Sheppard had seen part of a news report regarding a new drug on the loose in the continental U.S., glad that they didn't have that problem in Pegasus. The other man sighed heavily as he dumped ketchup on his fries. Taking it as an overture to conversation, Sheppard commented, "That sucks."

The man took a swallow of beer, setting the bottle back on the cardboard coaster. "Even worse when it's someone you know."

Sheppard's offered hand was gripped firmly, the roughness of the fingers and palm telling him that this man worked with his hands and worked hard. "John Sheppard. Air Force."

"Dominic Trask. Civilian."

"You here for business or pleasure?"

Trask wiped his mouth before responding. "Business. You?"

"Same." They fell into silence again, their eyes on the plasma screen though neither one was really watching. When Sheppard finished his second beer, he tossed a few bills on the bar. "What hotel you stayin' at?"

"Motel Five on Burbank."

Aiming a thumb over his shoulder, he said, "I'm goin' that way. Need a lift?"

With a nod, Trask paid his tab, put his jacket on and grabbed his backpack. "Thanks."

~~O~~

Pulling into traffic, Sheppard stared ahead, his concentration on the road. He had a specific destination in mind, and knew that Aaron trusted he wouldn't lead them into an ambush.

Pulling into the parking lot of a non-descript apartment building Sheppard pulled into his assigned parking space. Leading the way to an apartment on the second floor, he punched in the door code then used the key to open the door. "You can sleep in the second bedroom."

"Appreciate it."

"No problem. How's the business going?"

The two men exchanged a glance as they engaged in ordinary small talk while Sheppard swept the room for bugs and cameras. Satisfied that no one was listening or watching, he activated a jamming device then took a seat at the table. "Why the SOS?"

"There's a problem. I'm not sure who's doing it or why, but I have to stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Trance."

"The new drug that's making the rounds?" Standing in front of the sofa, Sheppard listened closely as Aaron gave him a concise rundown of the events that no one else had connected, at least not in the same way he had. When he finished, Sheppard's mouth was a hard line. "How can I help?"

Aaron took the seat next to him as they spread out the map and the notes Aaron had taken while in flight. "I made a list of the cities already hit."

Sheppard went to the closet, shuffled his junk around until he came to a whiteboard left over from a weekend when he and Rodney had been stranded in Colorado Springs due to a snow storm. The physicist had an epiphany regarding one of his projects and Sheppard had braved the storm to buy the whiteboard so he wouldn't write on the walls. "I thought it was something new. You've seen it before?"

"Yes." Getting to his feet, Aaron paced to the other side of the room and back. "There are side effects to the drug that either hasn't been taken into account or they're being counted on. Based on the reports from those who've taken it and survived, they experience an increase in the sensitivity of their senses all across the board.

"It's not actually a drug, but gene therapy similar to that performed on a select group of individuals by a covert government program called Outcome.

"I'm familiar with the concept." Sheppard held in a wry grin as his mind organized the history of the Stargate program so that when he asked Aaron if he was a member of Outcome, he'd have his response ready. In laying the groundwork for that eventuality, he booted up the Ancient data pad McKay had created for each of the senior staff, pretending to make notes.

"Before beginning the program, each participant is given an intensive psychological exam to determine their viability as a candidate. If the person putting Trance out there is only taking the physical effects into account…"

"Then a lot of people could end up dead."

Aaron chose to ignore that remark. "For Outcome, it was a two-step process. Physical and cognitive. Participants kept the upgrades by taking a daily dose of the chems-program meds. Eventually, the researchers learned how to make the changes permanent."

Looking down at his feet, Sheppard quietly remarked, "It's not easy watching someone's mind slowly slip away until there's nothing left of the person they used to be."

Aaron shifted in his seat. "It's even more painful to experience, especially when you have a long way to fall."

Knowing that his friend was talking about himself, Sheppard chose not to embarrass Aaron by asking for details. Instead, while Aaron listed off the people and organizations that might be behind this threat to national security and the possible motives, the Air Force officer did some research of his own. And the first thing he looked up was the man sitting across from him.

~~O~~

Dropping into his chair, Aaron continued. "Alterations were made to several different chromosomes. For cognition, it increased IQ along with augmentation for neural regeneration, elasticity, sensory function and pain suppression. On the physical side, one point five percent rise in mitochondrial protein update, creating increased muscle efficiency, tissue oxygenation… "

"So basically, these changes make you faster and smarter, almost super-human."

Grinning at the soldier's simplistic description, Aaron nodded. "I wouldn't've put it that way, but yeah."

One side of Sheppard's mouth twitched upward too. "Seen that too." The phone or whatever it was Sheppard was holding beeped. He turned it over, his eyes scanning the display. "Cross."

"Yeah?"

"Who's Kenneth Kitsom?"

That was a name Aaron thought he'd never have to hear or deal with ever again. It had been left among the ashes of his former life, his first life. Living at the state home had been hard, but it and the adherence to routine had been familiar, the staff welcoming and friendly to the mentally challenged Kenneth after his mother had passed away. He still missed her and often wondered what she would think of the man he'd become.

Never having known his father-he died when Kenneth was still a baby-he didn't miss not having a male authority figure until he met Special Forces Sergeant Javier Esposito and Air Force Captain John Sheppard, both on special assignment for their respective branches of the military. The way they looked out for each other and him on so short acquaintance made Aaron yearn for something that he felt was out of reach.

Before the bomb ended Kenneth's life, his platoon leader had treated him like an annoying pet. After Outcome, Byer hadn't done much better, using him to remake the world into his own twisted vision of right and wrong. The closest he'd come to having a father-figure recently was Jerry Ostergard, the man he'd purchased the contracting business from. Keeping his features impassive, Aaron stated simply, "He's dead."

Sheppard used his thumb to scroll the screen. "PFC Kenneth James Kitsom, 1st Battalion, 34th Armored Regiment out of Fort Riley, Kansas. DOB, July 2, 1977. DOD, November 17, 2003. This looks an awful lot like you."

As though he were talking about someone he'd known a long time ago, and not fondly, Aaron finished the recitation. "Kitsom was killed when his convoy hit an IED outside of Ramadi and a few weeks later, Aaron Cross was born. Because I trust you, I'm going to tell you what I know about Outcome." Sheppard made a show of reading from the tablet though Aaron wasn't sure why he hid his intelligence underneath a layer of feigned ignorance. "The man in charge of Outcome was a retired Air Force Colonel named Byer."

"_Eric _Byer?"

"Yeah. Know him?"

His back to Aaron as he hung the whiteboard on the wall, Sheppard huffed. "You could say that."

"Of the movers and shakers at Outcome, Byer, Lieutenant General Paulsen, Dr. Albert Hirsch and Zev Vendel are all dead. Dita Mandy and former CIA deputy director Noah Vosen turned state's evidence. The rest are in prison still protesting their innocence. Mandy and Vosen got time served, probation and were fitted with ankle monitors."

"If they travel more than five miles from their respective homes and jobs, your people will be on them like a Velcro suit."

"Not _mine_. Not anymore." His words coming out sharper than he meant, Aaron hoped his friend wouldn't call attention to it, and when he didn't, Aaron wandered what Sheppard had been doing the past few years that made him so mellow. Not that he wasn't before, but the man he met in Afghanistan and had only really known for a few incredibly long days and nights had been a little more high-strung than this one. He was wary, but of what or whom, Aaron couldn't tell.

"You had the genetic manipulation done?"

Aaron nodded, waiting for Sheppard to ask why the cognitive enhancements were done, but he didn't so he took a few moments to survey the entire Sheppard package, letting his subconscious compare the past side by side with the present. The Captain with the Colonel. This one was older of course, wiser, harder in some ways. Though they hadn't talked about it back then, Sheppard's left hand had born the indentation of a wedding band. It takes a minimum of three months for the groove to fade completely which that meant his friend had been married until just prior to them meeting for the first time. That same finger was still bare showing Aaron that Sheppard had yet to find a life companion, a woman in whom he could entrust one of his most precious assets, his heart.

Aaron's heart had been broken not so long ago, but he still held onto the hope that he'd find someone to share his life with. Someone who loved him, scars and all. She was out there. They just had to find each other. And that thought brought another face to mind. Someone he'd known as a friend though he had often felt that they could've been so much more to each other. Then one day, she was gone and he never saw her again. He'd tried to find her, but like Aaron Cross, her name must've been an alias because he hadn't been able to locate her. Then Outcome had taken over leaving him with little time to devote to friendships much less find someone to love.

Picking up the phone, Sheppard gave the appearance of being deeply engrossed in what he was reading. But Aaron read body language like most people read the funny pages. His friend had just made a decision that could have far-reaching consequences for both of them.

~~O~~

While his friend read out loud from his notes, Sheppard wrote on the board in columns the city name, date of the first known incidence of Trance, the date of the first death, number of deaths, number of comas and number of non-fatal, non-coma occurrences. And these were only the reported cases. There was no way to know how many had gone unreported.

"Schenectady, NY, five dead, one in a coma. Naples, FL, three dead, three in a coma. Nahant, MA, four dead, three in a coma. Iberia, OH, four dead, two in a coma. Damascus, MD, three dead, one in a coma. Europe Lake, WI, two dead, three in a coma. Ann Arbor, MI, four dead, two in a coma. Isle of Palms, SC, one dead, three in a coma. Taos, NM, seven dead, four in a coma. Tacoma, WA, six dead, two in a coma. O'Fallon, IL, three dead, four in a coma. Nags Head, NC, two dead, six in a coma. Urbandale, IA, five dead, two in a coma."

Reading down the first column, something struck Sheppard. Taking a piece of paper, he started doodling while Aaron continued with his recitation. It didn't take long for a pattern to develop. "The city names are an anagram. It spells out United Nations. Looks like the next place to be hit will be New York City."

Exhaling loudly, Aaron finished the thought. "They'll be targeting the United Nations."

"Right. But why? What purpose does it serve? It makes a bigger statement to kill thousands at a time rather than just a few at a time." A few moments of concentrated cogitating and Sheppard got his answer. "An international incident? Again, why? Revenge" To get their fifteen minutes? Meanness? To test a theory? If this person or group has ties to Outcome, they could be trying to frame someone." Sheppard didn't say out loud what they were both thinking.

"Me. But the only person I know capable of doing so wouldn't."

Facing Aaron again, one hand rubbing the back of his head, Sheppard could see the pain this disclosure had on the other man. "Oh?"

~~O~~

Not wanting to talk about Marta and knowing he had to, Aaron went to the kitchen for a glass of water. "Dr. Marta Shearing. When Outcome was shut down, Byer and his cronies tried to eliminate everyone associated with the program. Marta and I are all that's left, that I know of. We spent two years on the run, but you already know this…"

"Because of the money my brother sent."

Downing the water in one long drink, Aaron thought about his response. He wanted to offer to repay the loan, but sensed that Sheppard would be less than thrilled with the suggestion. To him, the money had been given freely, one friend to another. No repayment was necessary, so he didn't mention it except to say, "I've never thanked you."

"Don't mention it. Dave keeps that much in petty cash."

Aaron resumed his seat, staring at the whiteboard hoping an epiphany would come to him. "We got to know each other very well. She's a patriot, not a fanatic or activist. I just can't see her being a party to acts of terrorism."

Both men dropped into a contemplative silence. Aaron slumped down in his chair, arms crossed as he let his mind work out the problem. Another idea struck him, his mind working out how the perpetrator could be who he thought it was. His mind drifted off onto other subjects without conscious thought until Sheppard spoke.

"Hey, Cross, you okay?"

Aaron's eyes snapped open which was odd because he hadn't realized he shut them. "How about we sleep on it and revisit some of the possibilities in the morning?"

"Sure. Clean towels in the hall closet with the sheets. You'll have to make the bed because the maid hasn't been around lately."

It was a joke of course, but all Aaron could muster was a tired grin in response as he followed Sheppard down the hall. The Air Force officer tossed him sheets, pillowcases and a towel, grabbed some for himself and went into the other bedroom. After setting the linens on the dresser just inside the door to his room, Aaron retrieved his backpack and went into the bathroom.

In bed a few minutes later, he tucked one hand under his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Being able to sleep in a strange place normally came easy for Aaron, but not tonight. The person behind Trance would be difficult to locate and bring down. They'd both had the same training, the same enhancements, though Aaron's had been locked in. How this person was keeping the enhancements, he didn't know.

But if what Aaron suspected was true, catching the culprit wouldn't be easy. He hadn't been lying when he said that Marta was the only person he knew who could viral someone off the chems, but that didn't mean there weren't others out there who could do it. You just had to know where and how to look. Aaron had the knowledge and Sheppard had the connections. Both had a good working knowledge of New York City. What they needed on their team was someone who knew New York like the back of his or her hand. A native.

Closing his eyes, Aaron breathed deeply a few times to get his rampant thoughts under control so he could sleep.

~~O~~

What Sheppard didn't tell Aaron was that Eric Byer had been set to testify against him after the incident in which Captain Lyle Holland had died during an ill-fated rescue attempt. The investigators deemed the Apache helicopter crash an accident leaving only disobeying orders as the crime for which Sheppard was officially reprimanded in lieu of a trial.

The door to the other bedroom closed followed by the creak of the box spring. Now that Sheppard knew his guest was tucked in for the night, he allowed himself to drift off after checking for the 9mm under his pillow. He trusted Aaron with his life. What he didn't trust was Earth and the people in it. Any one of them could be the person or persons they were looking for. With more than six billion citizens, the possibilities were daunting. Or would be to someone who hadn't gone up against the Wraith.

Most of the Earth's population could be eliminated because they lacked the specialized training to create a drug such as Trance. Others could be eliminated due to age, proximity and motive. That left them with…what? Instead of lying awake trying to figure it out, Sheppard rolled onto his side and went to sleep.

In the morning, after breakfast at a diner down the street, Sheppard spent hours educating Aaron on the Stargate program and his involvement in it so he would understand how he could make things happen with just a phone call. And what better way to do that than with a demonstration. "What kind of access does your Trask ID come with?"

"What kind do I _need?_"

"Something that would get the SGC. NSA, NID, CIA."

Settling back in his seat, the picture of ease, Aaron crossed one leg over the other and reached for his coffee. "We need to make a stop on the way."

Sheppard drove to the address Aaron gave and waited in the Jeep while he went inside. When he returned, he'd changed clothes, one hand shoving something into his breast pocket. Then, with Aaron in the passenger seat, Sheppard turned onto the highway headed back to the SGC, his foot coming down on the accelerator. He exceeded the posted speed limit as if it were a suggestion and not a hard and fast rule.

As he approached the sign that said "Restricted Area. No Trespassing Beyond This Point. Photography Prohibited" he pulled out his SGC issued phone, dialing from memory. "Colonel Sheppard for General O'Neill…Hello, General. Thanks for taking my call…I need a favor, sir…Okay, so I'll owe _you_ one." He laid out his plan, surprised when O'Neill agreed and suggested a way for Sheppard to make it up to him. "I'll take care of it…Thank you, sir."

Stopping at the guard gate, Sheppard and Aaron showed their IDs and were admitted to the complex. In the motor pool, a Corporal barely old enough to shave eyed Aaron, saluted Sheppard then led him to the internal phone. "Colonel Mitchell for you, sir."

"Sheppard…uh-huh…right…no problem. Fine. I won't go over your head again…Same to _you_, Mitch…" Sheppard held the phone away from his ear when Mitchell slammed the phone down. "So, Corporal, you have transportation for us?"

"Yes, Colonel. This way." All during the walk out to the hangar, the Marine kept sneaking looks at the Aaron. Lowering his voice, he told the Corporal, "The last guy who stared at him drank through a straw for three months."

The Marine's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, sir. Have a good flight, Colonel."

A short time later, Sheppard was at cruising altitude and crossing into Nebraska airspace. With the tailwind, they would reach the base outside of New York City earlier than planned.

Mentally cringing at the enormity of the favor O'Neill had done for him, Sheppard put the plane on autopilot, took out his phone and made a call that would remove the string he'd just pulled. And all O'Neill had wanted was season tickets for the Canucks. He dialed a number from memory and it was answered on the second ring.

"_Sheppard._"

Not missing his brother's annoyed tone, Sheppard got up and moved into the back of the plane where the engine noise would cover his conversation until he remembered Aaron's kicked-up hearing. The Air Force officer hadn't spoken to his brother in nearly six months, but at least now Dave understood the need for secrecy and didn't give him grief when he did come around, which wasn't often. "It's John."

There was a pause. "_You're not coming, are you? You'll miss your niece's birthday._"

"I'll be a few days late, but it can't be helped. And I need a favor."

"_Name it._"

Dave hadn't paused to mull it over. He'd just agreed. That made this easier. "Is the owner of the Canucks still a member of your club?"

"_Yeah. Why?_"

"I need four luxury box season tickets for the upcoming season."

Dave's chuckle came through the phone, his earlier annoyance gone. "_That's __it__? From your tone, I thought you wanted a kidney or a lung or something._"

Smiling, Sheppard told his brother, "Maybe next time. I owe someone big."

"_Did she promise you something really special in exchange?_"

Ignoring his brother's remark, Sheppard told him the truth. Part of it, at least. "They're for my CO."

Now Dave laughed. "_Bucking for a promotion then. What name should I give Will Call?_"

Musing that pulling this particular string would not end up with the rank Brigadier General in front of his name, Sheppard just grinned. "General Jack O'Neill, with two L's."

"_Got it._" The humor dropped out of his voice."_What's going on, John?"_

"Long story. Tell it to you later."

"_Just make sure you stop in before heading back to work._"

The mention of home and his niece sobered his bantering mood. "Do my best. Gotta go. And Dave?"

Sheppard heard liquid being poured into a glass then ice cubes rattling. "Yeah?"

"Keep your phone on, just in case."

This time the pause was thick with Sheppard's request for understanding. "_I will. John?"_

"Yeah?"

There was another pause, longer this time. "_Be careful._"

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 3**

Hitting the end key, Dave Sheppard tossed the cell phone on the desk. These past couple of years, he and John had made strides in getting to know each other again. That's how he knew his brother was either in trouble, about to get into trouble or was helping someone in trouble. If he had to guess, he would say it was the latter. Unfortunately, it would be up to Dave to tell his daughter that the uncle she adored would be late for her birthday. Dave didn't want to burst her bubble, but someone had to be the bad guy. Slapping the desk top to dispel his anger, the CEO of Sheppard Industries went in search of his daughter.

~~O~~

Using his Trask government ID, Aaron was admitted to the Stargate complex without even a glimmer of suspicion. After the motor pool, the two men bypassed the central command area and went straight to the tarmac. The Marine in charge led them to a cylindrical shuttle made of what looked like an alloy. The back hatch opened when Sheppard touched the tiny remote and Aaron followed him inside.

Aaron admit to himself that he only half believed what Sheppard told him about the Stargate and traveling to other worlds. The kicker was that Sheppard had accepted what he'd been told about Outcome without question, telling Aaron that the story his friend spun had more than a grain of truth behind it.

Looking around with fascination at the Ancient ship, Aaron wondered what it would be like to fly one. There were benches in the rear compartment with upper and lower storage and four chairs in the forward section facing the window. Sheppard tossed his bag on the bench then dropped into the pilot's chair with a nod to shotgun inviting Aaron to sit. "We call it a Jumper. It flies in atmosphere, space and underwater."

Instead of sitting, Aaron rested an arm on the back of Sheppard's seat, leaning down to examine the controls. "What sort of propulsion does it use?"

Grinning, Sheppard touched the console. "You'd have to ask one of the geeks who works on 'em. I'm just the pilot."

"I'm pretty fair at flying a plane. How about a lesson?"

Taking his hands from the controls, the power levels dropped to zero. "The tech only works if you have the ATA gene. That's Ancient Technology Activation. It's kind of a genetic key to unlock all this stuff."

"Huh." Leaning forward so he could see out the front window, Aaron put his hand on the edge and immediately the power came on again, startling him. He pulled back saying, "What the _hell?_"

Sheppard and Aaron exchanged glances. The soldier's was shocked and resigned while Aaron's was just shocked. The data pad that Aaron had seen Sheppard using the night before appeared in front of Aaron's face. "Here. Hold this."

"Why?"

One side of Sheppard's face twitched upward in a rueful touch of humor that wasn't humorous. "Just _do_ it."

Shrugging, Aaron accepted the data pad, turning it over to look at the screen. It lit up and he was easily able to read the information displayed there. Well, the parts that were in English, Russian, Italian, Spanish, Farsi, German and French. He turned the pad around. "Sheppard…"

With a long resigned sigh, Sheppard nodded at the empty seat to the right. "Welcome to the club."

Before Aaron knew it, they were in the air. Out the window, the ground passed beneath them much faster than in a traditional aircraft. He guessed that some sort of inertial dampeners kept him from feeling more than the tightest turns, which Sheppard did frequently, probably to show off.

"Cross."

Aaron pulled his head out of the endless possibilities a craft like this brought to mind to respond. "Yeah?"

Standing, Sheppard invited him to change seats. "Time for a flying lesson."

Not waiting to be asked again, Aaron switched seats, absorbing Sheppard's instructions the way a sponge absorbed liquid. By the time they reached the New York state line, Aaron was flying the Jumper as if he'd been doing it for years instead of hours.

They switched back for the landing, Sheppard setting them down with a gentle thump. Aaron shrugged into his backpack and followed his friend out onto the tarmac at the Stewart Air National Guard Base sixty miles from NYC. Sheppard signed out a Jeep, flipped a salute to the Sergeant on duty almost as an afterthought, and drove them into the city.

Breakfast was hours ago, so said the grumbling in Aaron's stomach. After the long morning and flight, he needed food. He didn't have to say anything because Sheppard apparently felt the same as the Jeep made a quick right into the parking lot of a small diner. They got out, and went inside.

Established in 1952, Cheesy Pete's Diner had retained its old fashioned allure through the years and three different owners. White on the outside with black and white checks alternating with green and yellow, it hadn't closed its doors in more than two decades, and then it was only because of a freak ice storm. They didn't even close on federal or national holidays.

The chairs were metal bars with padded seats and backs that were more comfortable than they looked. All in that same yellow and green. Dressed in black slacks and yellow polo shirts with the diner's name stitched above the nametags, servers hustled soft drinks, coffee and food loaded with carbs, fat and cholesterol. On the back page of the menu way at the bottom where it was hardly noticeable were choices for those who wanted healthier fare.

Aaron's stomach grumbled again while the server poured coffee and they both ordered the special. Silence, at once a friend and an enemy, joined them. When they'd finished eating, the server, a thirty-ish woman named Fran, refilled their cups. "You boys just get into town?"

The woman was trying to be friendly, so Aaron smiled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Glancing from one to the other, she pointed a finger. "Family reunion?"

Giving up a sheepish smile, Sheppard shifted in his seat. "Our flight was delayed so we missed dinner with the family."

"Oh, that's too bad." Fran frowned appealingly and seemed to be genuinely sorry for them. Not at all like New York. Before moving on, she said, "Be right back."

A few minutes later she set slices of warm apple pie in front of them. "On the house."

Sheppard reached for his fork to cut a bite of the pie. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, Aaron did the same, finding that the warm apples and juice combined with the flaky crust had an ameliorating effect on his mood. The bell over the door rang and Fran left them to attend to the new arrivals.

Keeping his voice low, Aaron said, "We need a place to stay. All my safe houses were taken out while I was on the run."

Sheppard chewed and swallowed before responding. "I can help with that."

"How?"

"I know a guy."

Aaron's fork stopped in midair. "Why am I not surprise?"

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Sheppard tossed it on the table. "You know him too."

Taking out his phone, Sheppard dialed a number that wasn't in his contact list. Aaron's exceptional hearing heard a voice mail message come on then a beep. Sheppard only said one word and a phone number, "Fayzabad. 232-555-1970."

He ended the call and set the phone to the right of his plate so he could see the screen. "Now we wait."

~~O~~

Esposito moaned at the ringing phone vibrating across the bedside table. It stopped and beeped telling him he had a message. Reluctantly rolling over, he fumbled the phone, dropping it on the floor. "Crap."

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other retrieved the phone. Yawning and scratching his chest as the message played, he expected to hear Beckett's voice telling him there had been another homicide. What he did hear brought him awake and off the bed, already reaching for a pair of jeans thrown over the back of a chair. He zipped up, took a clean T-shirt from the dresser and pulled it on glad for the first time since he got off duty that Lanie had gone out of town for a few days so he wouldn't have to explain why he was having visitors in the middle of the night.

Actually, it wasn't that late. The team's "night" had started at well before dawn after only four hours of sleep. Somewhere around dinner time, he and Ryan had chased a perp down to the warehouse district bordering the wharf along the Hudson. The guy had put up a hell of a fight and all three of them ended up in the water. It had taken three showers to get the smell out of his hair. By then, the detective was exhausted.

In the living room, Esposito put on socks and sneakers and grabbed the unused burner phone he kept for emergencies. When the other party answered, he gave an address and apartment number.

Retrieving his work cell, he called a number, rattled off a list of names then shut off the phone, holding it in one hand as he tapped a knuckle against his chin in thought.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Esposito let the two men in, stuck his head out briefly and closed it again. Sheppard took out what looked like a miniature tablet with a white cover, tapped the screen a few times and set it in the middle of the coffee table. "We're free to talk."

Esposito offered his hand to Sheppard then to Aaron who gathered the former Special Forces Staff Sergeant into a quick hug. If anyone else had done it, Esposito would've decked him, but his past experience with the agent had taught him it was Aaron's way. Ryan, Beckett and Castle _maybe_, but only under extreme circumstances. Aaron seemed to have an inherent need for human touch, placing a hand on someone's shoulder to get their attention, giving them a companionable pat on the back or an arm squeeze with a nod and a smile to instill confidence. He'd learned to deal with it in Afghanistan.

"Thanks for the assist, Sarge."

"Glad to do it," Esposito said offhandedly. Aaron settled at one end of the sofa while Sheppard took the other. Going into the kitchen, the detective returned with three beers. "What's going on? Why the hush-hush and why after all this time?"

The ex-Outcome asset sipped from the bottle seeming to use the time to order his thoughts though Esposito knew different. Aaron's was one of the sharpest minds he'd ever encountered, impressing even Sheppard with his grasp of Dari and Pashto, the two most common languages in Afghanistan. The Air Force officer had a better grasp of Dari than Esposito did, but Aaron outshined both of them. He set the bottle on a coaster with the logo of the New York Giants. "A new street drug called Trance."

"We got the word last week. Nothing reported in New York yet. Doesn't mean it's not here."

"It's not a drug in the conventional sense." Aaron went on to explain the properties of Trance and the hypothesis that he and Sheppard had come to regarding the next target. "…the United Nations."

Taking in all the information, Esposito tallied up the possible effect of Trance being in New York and didn't like the way it played out. "Why? And who's behind it?"

"Someone who worked for Byer?"

"You said they'd all been accounted for."

Resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, Sheppard's eyebrows drew together over his nose. "That we know of. There could've been some Homeland Security didn't know about. Byer worked alongside Vosen on Treadstone, Blackbriar and LARX. There could've been any number of people backing them up who didn't get caught because they covered their tracks."

"I remember Treadstone. That guy, Jason Bourne, slipped through JSOC's net. He's dead, right? Killed when he was shot and fell into the river."

Aaron felt Sheppard's eyes on him, but didn't give him the satisfaction of showing it. "Can't say."

Esposito's eyes narrowed. "How can I have your back if you're gonna keep me out of the loop?"

"Can't say because I haven't spoken to him in over six months."

Esposito nodded, expecting nothing less. "From what I've heard about Bourne, I'm not surprised he's still alive."

Giving Sheppard another of his looks, Aaron indicated Esposito urging the soldier to let the detective in on his secret. Sheppard answered with a minute shrug, barely a twitch of one shoulder. To anyone else, their non-verbal communication would look like restlessness, but to the detective, they screamed from the rooftops.

~~O~~

The apartment was typical for a bachelor. Sports memorabilia on the tables and built-in bookshelves, an old neon sign advertising a defunct brand of beer, worn but cared for furniture, nearly new electronics, sports equipment piled in a corner and ample evidence that a woman had been here recently. An intelligent and unabashedly feminine woman to go by the scent lingering in the air. Aaron could smell her in the apartment meaning she'd been there in the last forty-eight hours. In another day or so, he might not have been able to detect the combination of aromas, including the Exceptional perfume. All were uniquely her. He thought about asking, but now wasn't the time for what amounted to gossip.

One side of Esposito's mouth turned up in a half smile, and Aaron took another sip of beer to keep from mirroring the expression. There was nothing funny going on here. _Semper Fi_ wasn't just a motto for the detective. Honor, courage and commitment were a way of life. He lived it every day or he wouldn't have answered Sheppard's call.

Flicking his eyes from Esposito to Sheppard, Aaron gauged the detective's mood and level of belief. While Aaron and Sheppard had spent the last few years actively involved with government agencies so secret that most of the world wouldn't believe they existed even if it was posted on You Tube, Esposito had not.

Getting to his feet, Sheppard paced the small living room. Three steps in one direction, three in the other. All while rubbing the back of his neck until he came to a decision. He had trusted these men with his life when they barely knew each other. They'd been friends for years and it was too late to stop now. Crossing his arms, he faced them, catching a glare from Esposito.

"What's goin' on?" the detective asked in the same demanding tone he used when questioning perps.

Aaron was the next recipient of Sheppard's glare. "Ever heard of Stargate Command?"

A huff of annoyance came from Esposito. "What?"

Aaron didn't blame him. It all sounded like some cheesy science fiction television series.

With only a slight hesitation, Sheppard swung into the Cliff notes of the story he'd told Aaron. "The Stargate is as device that permits nearly instantaneous travel inside a stable wormhole established with a second Stargate on a planet, in space or on a ship. The first Earth-based Stargate was found in 1928 on an archaeological dig in Giza…"

Sheppard went on to give a quick rundown of the history of the Stargates, including his involvement in the Atlantis expedition without being specific, keeping an eye on Esposito's reaction though it wasn't necessary. Any man who could take out a target at twelve hundred meters in the hundred twenty degree heat of Afghanistan in July was seldom shaken by much. Though he made a good attempt at being calm and unruffled, Esposito was stunned. As a cop, it was in his nature to ask questions, but he hadn't said a word, and that meant trouble. Sheppard waited and wasn't at all surprised when Esposito laughed.

"You're kidding, right?" The detective snapped his fingers and pointed. "Castle put you up to this didn't he?"

"Don't know anyone named Castle." Waiting for the detective to say something more, Sheppard went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water, giving Esposito time to digest information he'd been given. Standing at the sink sipping the water just for something to do, he heard voices talking low. Esposito asking questions, Aaron answering them. Of course an ex-agent with a kicked up IQ would have a better grasp of the math and science involved in wormhole travel than a soldier or a cop.

Though he seemed to accept what Sheppard said along with Aaron's explanation of the math involved, Aaron knew the well of skepticism inside Esposito ran deep. To truly believe, he'd have to see. Esposito confirmed that evaluation.

"I gotta hand it to you guys. You're really tryin' hard to sell this load of crap." Staying silent while Sheppard attempted to add details to make his argument more credible, Aaron saw from Esposito's expression that it would be futile. Esposito waved his hands to put a stop to Sheppard's explanations. "Okay. Let's suspend belief and say that this Stargate thing is real. Why do you do it?"

Sheppard saw that Aaron had filled several sheets of paper with equations as he worked out the math involved in wormhole travel with Esposito reading over his shoulder when he stalled at the bottom of page four. They both looked up as he came fully into the room.

"Exploration. Seeing what's over the next hill and the next and the next."

Still not believing what he'd heard, Esposito shrugged it off for now. Leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, he slanted a look at Aaron. "What part do _you_ play in all of this?"

"_My_ game is different. I used to work for something called Project Outcome. It involved the use of genetic manipulation to boost the intelligence and physical aspects of the…participants."

"Outcome," Esposito repeated, tasting the word on his tongue and snorting. "That's sounds as bogus as Sheppard's deal. Like something out of a spy thriller."

Keeping his features somber, Aaron said, "I understand your misgivings, and in your place, I'd probably ask all the same questions. But everything we've told you here tonight is true."

Reaching out with one hand, Esposito snagged the data pad from where it lay on the coffee table. Looking up at Sheppard apologetically, the cop shrugged. "Guess I broke it."

"You didn't, Sarge. It's a specialized piece of equipment that uses DNA to activate it."

"DNA?"

Aaron added, only slightly smug. "Only those with a certain genetic expression present in their DNA can use the tech."

Sheppard held up the device to show that it was active then handed it back to the detective, the screen immediately going blank. Aaron wiggled his fingers asking for it. The moment it touched his hand, the screen lit up again. He looked up at Sheppard with a smirk.

The Colonel shrugged. "Some of us lowly humans are born with the gene. Our doctors have worked out how to artificially implant it in someone using a retrovirus, but it only works about forty-five percent of the time. Cross is one of the lucky few."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. Outcome used chems, medications to make alterations to the genetic codes of its participants."

Shifting in his seat, Esposito seemed to be a loss for words, but as always, it only lasted a short time. "What did they boost?"

"Pain suppression, sensory function, muscle efficiency, that kind of thing."

Sheppard dropped into the armchair. "Something similar happened to Rodney a few years back."

"This Rodney, he's okay then? He didn't go, you know, all Fantasy Island, on you did he?" Esposito asked, and Sheppard could see that it was more than idle curiosity.

"Yeah. He's just as annoying and aggravating as he was before. And _no._"

The detective tried to look innocent, but the twinkle in his brown eyes gave him away. "No what?"

"No, you can't have the therapy. O'Neill would never agree."

Shrugging, Esposito gave him a sheepish smile. "Wasn't asking. Just wanted to make sure Cross here wouldn't be going medieval on our asses. So what's next? How do we find out who's doing this and stop him?"

~~O~~

The men stayed up talking for several hours never coming to a firm conclusion as to who was behind the production and distribution of Trance, their motives or how to stop them. Finally, Esposito put an end to the debate by yawning just as Sheppard stood and stretched. "How about we pick this up later? I'm beat."

Taking the cue from his friends, Aaron nodded while Esposito went to a closet in the hall, returning with pillows and blankets. "Work out between you who takes the couch 'cause I'm not givin' up the bed. I've got sick time. I'll call the Captain tonight and let him know I'm taking some time off."

Acknowledging with just a nod, Aaron and Sheppard each grabbed a pillow and blanket. After a quick round of rock-paper-scissors, Aaron kicked off his shoes and lay down on the sofa while Sheppard folded the blanket into a bedroll, lay down facing the television and appeared to go to sleep. Aaron was glad that he hadn't been offered the bed, especially if his friend had been sharing it with his girlfriend recently. The scent would be unbearable even after the sheets had been changed. And if there was one thing he didn't need it was yet another reminder of his time with Marta.

Staring up at the ceiling, Aaron laced his fingers together over his stomach, once again going over the list of people who might have a grudge. Most of the names were unknown to him as they would be the families of people he'd been ordered to kill. Many of the deaths had been made to look like accidents or natural causes. How they would get his name, he didn't know. And now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't fall asleep. Or rather he could. He just didn't want to.

To speed up their investigation, Aaron turned on Esposito's laptop. Quickly creating a program to get around the password, Aaron began hacking into the first of several systems in an effort to make sense of a world that had stopped making any sense at all.

Aaron did his best not to let the past interfere with his enjoyment of the present, but it was difficult when he was reminded of it every time he looked in the mirror. Others might not notice, but he could still see the small scars on the right side of his face where pieces of shrapnel hit him. His body also bore traces of the day Kenneth Kitsom died and Aaron Cross was born. He could still feel the cap worn over his hairless scalp following emergency surgery to repair a subdural hematoma.

Many times he wished he couldn't remember a time before Outcome. Had even said so to Marta when she'd awakened him in the middle of the night, dragging him from yet another nightmare of the bombing at Ramadi, or their flight from the asset.

Suddenly too tired to continue, Aaron lay down with the data pad in his hand intending to read as much as he could about the Stargate program before giving into his body's demands. It wasn't to be though. He briefly closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, it was morning and someone was pounding on a door down the hall.

With lightning quickness, he rolled off the sofa as Sheppard barrelled out of the bathroom still blinking sleep from his eyes and Esposito appeared from the bedroom. All three sheepishly lowered their weapons.

Again someone banged on a door, this time accompanied by a woman's voice shouting in Spanish. "Danny! Open the ****ing door! I know you're in there. Mirabelle said she saw you with a couple o' your low life _friends_ last night. Danny! Come _on!_" The woman growled in frustration, even stamped her foot like a two-year old. "You said you'd call when you got back. I waited all ****ing _night_ and got nothin' but no ****ing _sleep!_ How the *** am I s'pose to work?"

She continued her tirade and Aaron even started for the door, stopping when Sheppard grabbed his arm. Exchanging his Glock 17 for his badge, Esposito, in a T-shirt and boxers, went into the hall. The woman's voice cut off when he began to quote the New York Penal Code as it related to disturbing the peace and how she'd be spending the weekend in lockup if she didn't _vamanos_.

There was a brief moment of protest then Esposito had apparently showed her his badge because her tirade abruptly cutoff, followed by the click of heels in the hallway then descending the stairs. Before the detective could let himself back in, Sheppard opened the door. "That woman was criminally annoying."

The smell of coffee coming from Esposito's automatic coffee maker perked all three of them up, Esposito going into the bedroom to get dressed before joining his friends at the dining room table.

While Sheppard poured them each a cup of coffee, Aaron raided the refrigerator for milk to go with the cereal he found in the pantry. He carried three bowls, spoons, the box of Lucky Charms and a bottle of milk to the table where they ate in silence.

When they were done eating, Aaron carried the dishes to the kitchen and Esposito refilled their cups. Over his shoulder as he rinsed the dishes, Aaron said, "Did some research last night. Might have an idea on who's behind this, but we need proof."

Esposito kept his dark eyes on Aaron. "So share."

Without turning around, he said, "You'll think I'm crazy, but it's the only thing that fits." Aaron pulled the plug from the sink watching the water and leftover suds swirl around the drain. Turning around, he leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. "Marta-Dr. Shearing was one of the lead virologists for Outcome. She told me that originally, there were nine program participants."

"Program participants? Sounds very…clinical."

"Three were dropped because of a flaw in the genetic coding in their chems. It suppressed all emotion producing a lack of empathy and decreased their ability to feel physical pain. To them, nothing mattered. Just the mission and carrying out their orders. The one sent after us, he just kept coming and coming and didn't stop until…"

"You killed him." Sheppard's voice was without emotion. Neither approving nor disapproving of the end result. It just _was_.

Looking down at his feet, Aaron took a breath then another. "No. I was driving the motorcycle, barely conscious due to blood loss from a couple of hits. If it hadn't been for Marta, we'd both be dead." Though he hadn't seen it, he could picture it all in his mind. Only Marta's tight grip on his waist kept her in her seat as he swerved back and forth through the open-air warehouse. She lashed out with her foot, throwing the asset off balance and causing him to run head first into a concrete support beam, killing him instantly.

~~O~~

The building looked just like all the others in this part of town. Warehouses made of brick and concrete with huge windows near the three-story ceiling, concrete floors and loading docks protected by electric doors.

Dressed as he was in khakis, a worn polo shirt and battered yet still wearable jacket, he let himself into the old building that hadn't seen long-term use since the sixties. A cot, mini 'fridge and a table with a microwave, hot plate and coffeemaker took up only a few square feet of the enormous room. Most of the remaining space was occupied by lab equipment inside a series of clean room tents.

Thick insulated power cables crisscrossed the floor. Some of which led to an open window and over to a junction box from which he was siphoning electricity. He'd also tapped into the phone lines though there hadn't been a need to create a way to have fresh water because the owner had never turned it off. Why, he didn't know or care. There was only the mission. The only thing he cared about. By the end, he expected to be dead, but he felt no remorse or sorrow for an event that was inevitable.

When he killed Byer, he thought he'd feel relief, liberation, the sense that he could finally live without looking over his shoulder. Find the woman he loved. Anger, fear, pleasure, rage, peace, contentment. Anything but the pervasive indifference. He no longer cared about anything other than revenge. It was his all. His reason for being.

The U.S. government was responsible for making him into what he'd become and he would see to that they paid, and paid dearly. They would _all_ pay. He would create an international incident that was without precedence. One from which the United States would not recover for many years and though he'd likely not live to see it all come to pass, just knowing it would happen gave him some sense of liberation from the hell that was his life.

And he'd take down Aaron at the same time. Not by taking away his life. It would be far too easy to simply shove a knife between the ribs, break his neck or shoot him. Aaron Cross had to _suffer_. He could think of nothing worse than to take away one of the things he cherished most: His brain.

When Byer was dead, he'd taken the man's files on Outcome. As the man in charge, he'd been kept apprised every step of the way during the process. There were parts missing, but they could be extrapolated. That's why he and the others had been made. Why they'd been turned into what they were.

The data on the medical aspects of Outcome wasn't all he'd found on Byer's computer. After hacking through the layers of encryption-Byer had been paranoid and rightly so-he'd found dossiers on each of the program participants going back to the date of birth.

But he already knew what drove Aaron. He would take it away and return him to his previous condition while letting him keep the knowledge that at one time he'd been so much more.

~~O~~

These men were used to conducting investigations and Esposito asking questions he wouldn't understand the answers to was his way of getting the ball rolling, getting the creative juices flowing.

Aaron, still holding the data pad, tapped commands with his thumb, waiting impatiently for the results.

"We have to narrow it down." Again, Esposito stated the obvious. And sometimes it was necessary. "Is there anything about Trance that points to a specific group or person?"

"Yes. You already know about Treadstone. Outcome used chems instead of behavior modification."

Aaron stopped a snort of humor when Esposito said in a stage whisper, "Brain washing."

Shaking his head, Aaron handed the data pad to Sheppard so he could read the list for himself. "What about the target? The UN building. Has any individual or faction expressed dissatisfaction with the way it's being run or with one or more of the member countries for any reason?"

"Not that I've heard."

Esposito and Aaron glanced at Sheppard who put his hands up. "Haven't seen the news in months."

"Why not?"

"Been out of the country."

"We all know how _that_ goes," was Esposito's snide comment on the inequality of the justice system. Aaron didn't blame him. He was used to dealing with government agencies from the outside while Sheppard still worked from the inside. Something he'd found out hacking around the government databases while on the run.

Exhaling loudly, the Air Force officer sat forward, elbows resting on his thighs. "I've got top level clearance, guys. We just have to ask the right questions of the right person. Not my CO though. Already traded on that connection."

As though he were ordering pizza, Esposito shrugged. "I can help with that. A guy on my team has influence that goes all the way to the CIA."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 4**

Esposito's face pinched in annoyance when his companions chuckled with unrestrained amusement. "What? Can _you_ do better?"

Getting to his feet, Sheppard swaggered into the kitchen for a coffee refill, his voice echoing slightly. He came back to stand in the doorway. "My clearance as military commander is already higher than the CIA."

Again Esposito snorted in derision. "Higher than the _CIA?_ Who do you answer to, the president?"

"No. But my _CO_ does. He heads up a branch of Homeland Security." Sheppard went back to the kitchen and returned with the coffee pot. "Can your teammate top that?"

The detective took a swig of coffee before responding with a shrug. "Okay. You win. Besides, his contact turned out to be a KGB mole so that bridge is kinda burned. He _did_ help save the world though."

Sheppard chuckled again. "Yeah? How many times?"

"I suppose you're gonna tell me this Stargate thing is _real_ and aliens tried to take over Earth last summer."

Shaking his head, Sheppard returned to sit at the other side of the table. "No." He waited a beat then, "It was winter, 2009."

Stopping with the cup halfway to his mouth, Esposito looked from Sheppard to Aaron and back moving just his eyes, stopping on Aaron. "Were _you_ in on it too, Cross?"

"No." Like Sheppard, Aaron waited a few beats before continuing. _Man, these guys love their dramatic pauses. Just like Castle._ Then he almost choked on his coffee when Aaron said, "I was taking down a Mexican drug cartel from fall of '08 to spring of '09. Totally missed the alien invasion."

Esposito's brain sorted through his memories and came up with a blurb about the _La Familia Oaxaca_, so called because Oaxaca was the birthplace of their leader, Miguel Dominguez Esparza, who was now serving several hundred life sentences in Islas Marías Federal Penal Colony. He heard Esparza had been taken down by an American agent working undercover, but that agent's name had never been released. If Aaron _were_ that agent, and Esposito had no reason not to believe him, could what Sheppard had been telling him be true too? _I'll believe __that__ when I see it! Sounds like something from one of Castle's writer pals._ Though he did admit, if just to himself, that what Cross had been telling him pointed toward it being at least partially true.

Aaron got to his feet putting an end to Esposito's deliberations. He was back shortly with the laptop. "I did some research last night. Let me show you what I found."

Sheppard turned his chair around to straddle it while Esposito stood to Aaron's right watching over his shoulder. "Helped yourself to my computer, huh?"

Without looking up, Aaron talked as he typed. "I did a little tweaking while I was at it."

"Tweaking? Does anyone still _say_ that?"

Ignoring the remark, Aaron opened several documents and web pages. "It hadn't been updated in two years. Plus I installed Windows 8 and Office 2013. I think you'll find it a big improvement over your old operating system. You're welcome, by the way."

"Yeah, whatever. Just get on with it."

"We're not gettin' any younger, Cross," Sheppard chimed in.

Aaron glanced over his shoulder. "You should take notes, Javi."

~~O~~

Dumping the bag out onto the bed, Harper Finley held up each clothing item gauging its suitability for her task. Satisfied that each would work well for the part she was about to play, she got ready to take a shower.

Thirty minutes later, dressed in dark blue skinny jeans and a light blue baggy sweater with a white scarf draped around her neck, she locked the door to her hotel room and took the elevator down to the first floor. Breezing past the parking lot, she walked to the subway, got on the second train that arrived and rode to the other end of town. She could've taken her car, rented one or even taken a cab, but she needed to be flexible in how she left her meeting.

A variety of weapons were hidden under her clothing, also giving her flexibility for dealing with rancorous associates should this meeting go sideways. The weapons weren't as needed as usual. She carried one with her at all times, one that no one could take from her or use against her. It had worked well in the past and would continue to do so.

The train pulled to a stop and Harper disembarked with a group of commuters, mixing with them until they reached ground level. This part of town was more than a little rundown. Graffiti artists had tagged most of the disused buildings and some of those still occupied. She knew she looked out of place, but that was the point.

Calling the hole-in-the-wall a coffee shop was an insult to coffee _and_ shops. The walls were badly in need of paint, the tile floor had started to bubble in places, and the furniture looked like it had been left on a street corner. Perhaps it had. Or maybe the owner just wanted someone to feel like a trio of college students had furnished their fourth floor walk-up.

Going to the table in the corner farthest from the register, Harper took a seat until her contact arrived. When he came in, the cashier did smile, handing him two cups and taking his money showing her that he was a regular here. He walked over to stand next to her table.

"Buy you a coffee?"

Looking him over, she decided he would do. "Depends. Are you Joseph?"

Both hands were wrapped around cardboard cups, small wisps of steam escaping through the hole. His posture and attitude were casual. Almost too much so and Harper had no doubt that he had ready access to at least one weapon. Taking her question as an invitation to join her, he dropped into the chair facing the door, setting one of the cups in front of her. "No more than you're Ashley. Where's the money?"

"Where's the product?"

Joseph reached into his pocket and withdrew a clear zippered bag containing fifty small white tablets. Picking it up, she examined the pills, turning them over and finding no manufacturer's marks. Not that she expected to find anything. She just wanted to make sure she wasn't being ripped off. "How do I know this is the real thing? That I'm not being taken for a ride?"

"I got a rep to maintain. I only sell quality products and never rip off my buyers _or_ my suppliers."

"An _ethical_ drug dealer? That makes you one of a kind. What about the deaths?"

Shrugging, Joseph set his cup back on the table. "You know as well as I do that there's a risk in taking _any_ medication. And of the thousands who've taken it, there's less than a ten percent mortality rate."

"You sound like a doctor."

"Naw. But my supplier is. Knows his way around a test tube too. Makes the stuff himself."

She stood and he did as well. "If I want more, how should I contact you?"

Now he grinned, and it made him look younger, less thuggish than before. Didn't change his nature. A drug dealer is still a drug dealer whether he looks like one or not. "Same way. The ad on Craigslist."

Nodding, Harper got up and left without looking back aiming for the train station, though she wasn't headed back to the hotel. Changing trains randomly, she made certain she wasn't being followed before boarding the one to her destination. On the way, she pinned her hair up in a ratty bun, removed her sweater and tied it around her waist revealing a skintight black top that left nothing to the imagination. She exchanged her boots for a pair of black stiletto heels, removed the gold earrings and replaced them with huge pair of lime green and hot pink hoops. The gold and blue bangle bracelets came off and another set matching the earrings went on.

The final touch in her transformation came when she left the train and went into the ladies room. There, she applied a thick layer of black mascara finished off with excessive eye shadow and bright red lipstick. As she reached ground level, she shoved a stick of gum in her mouth and chewed to make it pliable so she could blow bubbles.

This contact knew her under a much different guise than her real self. To keep him interested in helping her, she had to play the part. He saw her as a Bronx bimbo, a pack mule for her drug dealing "boyfriend." She dressed and acted the part of a girl with little education who flaunted her physical attributes as a way to get and keep a man's attention. But with her, it was a way to distract men from her true purpose.

Harper reached her destination and was knocking on the door within twenty minutes. The woman who let her in was Hispanic and in her early fifties. Her short black and gray hair lay limp and lifeless over her skull and her face was set in a permanent scowl. "In the back."

The woman shuffled toward the back of the house seeming to have already forgotten she had a guest. Good. She followed the woman, continuing out through the back door to the building at the back of the property. She knocked and entered without invitation. "Yo, Nicky!"

"Muffy! _Como esta, bonita chica?_" The older man rushed to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Unlike his wife, Nicky had a Mexican accent though his English was excellent and he smiled all the time.

"_Moo-ay bee-an._" She blew a bubble and sucked it back in as she took the plastic bag from her purse. "Corbin wants ya to do whatever it is ya do to find out whatever this is."

Nicky smiled as the reason for her visit came clear. "He wishes to cut out the middleman. What is it?"

She sashayed across the floor even knowing that Nicky was already thinking about the job. "Some new stuff called Trance. If ya can tell him what's in it, he can get the stuff off the Internet."

Lifting the bag, he gave her another smile. "Come back in a week. I should have something by then."

Going to him, Harper put her hands on his shoulders, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout. "He kinda wants ya to make it a priority. KnowwhatImean? 'N you _know_ what he's like when he's upset. Always acts like it's _my_ fault or somethin'."

"Of course, _mi querida_. I'll get started right away."

Going to the door, she stopped and turned. "Corbin's got a new phone number. 213-555-9295. Gotta go. Ma's makin' dinner."

"Take care, Muffy."

Satisfied that Nicky would handle the situation with all due haste, she returned to the train station for the trip back to her hotel. While waiting, she went into the bathroom to change back into the boots and sweater. She also washed her face free of the make-up leaving her looking like a college student. It didn't really matter how the general public perceived her. No one would believe the truth anyway.

The train was coming so she quickly dried her hands on the seat of her jeans and rushed out to the landing in time to board with the rest of the passengers.

~~O~~

While Aaron went over the info they had so far and Esposito took notes, Sheppard, who already had it all on file in his data pad and his head, wandered around the living room folding blankets and carrying them to the closet. He set the pillows on the perfectly made-up bed then went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. The last dish had just been dried and returned to the cabinet when there was a knock on the door.

All three men looked at it for moment then at each other with a "What the ****?" expression. Before they could decide what to do, the knocking turned into pounding.

"_Hey, Espo! Open up, man. It's Ryan._"

Keeping his voice low, Esposito said, "That's my partner. I shoulda known he'd show up."

"How do you wanna play this?" Sheppard whispered.

"Hide. If he sees you here, he'll never let it go until he gets the full story. And once he knows, he'll want in on it."

Aaron closed the laptop while Sheppard scooped up his data pad and the duffle bags on the way to the bedroom.

~~O~~

After the door closed behind his friends, Esposito toed off his shoes, mussed his hair and pulled the T-shirt from his pants. On the way to the door, he picked up the remote as if he'd fallen asleep with it in his hand. He opened the door, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "What d'you want, Ryan?"

Trying to peer over his partner's shoulder, Ryan responded, "Beckett told me you called in sick. I wanna know why you're really takin' time off. You were fine when I dropped you off."

"Got sick during the night." Esposito rubbed his stomach. "Must've been that third burrito."

"You _never_ get sick. What's this about?" Ryan cocked his head to the side, listening, a grin coming over his boyish face. "You got company, don't you?"

Rolling his eyes, Esposito gave his partner one of his "you gotta be kidding" looks. "You know as well as I do that Lanie's out of town at that MEs conference."

Ryan looked Esposito in the eye, gauging if he was telling the truth or not, and Esposito did his best to look the part. It must've worked because Ryan backed up a step and nodded. "Okay. Have it your way. But I wanna hear all about it when you get back to work tomorrow."

"Uh, right. See ya." And before his partner could say another word, Esposito closed the door in his face. He didn't step away, putting his ear closed to the door. Ryan's footsteps on the stairs verified that he'd left and wasn't lying in wait to pounce when they came out. Going to the window, he watched Ryan get into their shared company vehicle and drive away. "Clear."

Sheppard and Aaron returned to the dining room, Aaron going back to the laptop and powering it up again. While Sheppard stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a thoughtful expression on his face.

Esposito watched him for a while then asked, "What're you thinkin', Shepp?"

"I'm thinking we could use a mole at the NYPD."

That caught Aaron's interest. With an internal snort, Esposito supposed there was little that did escape Aaron's notice. "Ryan. So we should maybe let him in on your little secrets?"

"Tell him just enough to make him of use to us."

Aaron nodded. "CIs would be the first to know if a new shipment of Trance was coming in and who might be distributing it."

"That would lead us to the supplier and the manufacturer making it." Aaron shook his head. "I don't understand how he-or she-got around the genetic aspects of the chems. For Outcome, at least at the beginning, the chems were given in the form of injections because each had to be tailored for the individual's genetic map. Once the therapy took hold, it had to be boosted with chems in pill form every day. Marta-Dr. Shearing and her team created the process for locking in the enhancements. She calls it viraling."

Wanting to ask what the hell Aaron was talking about, Esposito got a surprise when Sheppard nodded as if he understood. "That's when you use a virus to carry the genetic material into the body so it'll adhere to the DNA."

"How the hell do you know that, Sheppard?" asked the curious Esposito. "I only understood half of what he said."

One side of Sheppard's mouth turned upward in an ironic grin. "We use the same method to produce the ATA gene in those born without it. Beckett called it a retrovirus."

"Beckett? He related to my boss, by any chance?"

"Not unless she's from Scotland."

"New York, born and raised." Shaking his head, Esposito sat on the sofa to put on his shoes. "I'll put a call out to a couple of my CIs, see if any fish are biting." Within thirty minutes, the detective had a call-back. Tossing Sheppard and Aaron their jackets, he led the way down to the street. "We'll take my car. Melanie won't show her face if anything looks hinky."

They'd only gone a few blocks when flashing lights and the whoop of a police siren had Esposito pulling over to the curb. "Let me to the talking."

He waited until the officer rapped on the window then buzzed it down while taking out his shield. "Morning, officer. I'm Detective Esposito from the one-two, Homicide."

"And my partner. So…" Ryan leaned down to look in the driver's window at the two passengers, "…you boys wanna tell me what this is all about?"

Sighing in frustration, Esposito shook no. "Not really."

"But you _will_, 'cause I'm your partner and partners tell each other everything, right?"

~~O~~

In the Java Loft, the four men took a table as far from the entrance as they could. Casually, Sheppard took out his data pad to activate the anti-eavesdropping function. Within moments, the other patrons were complaining to the manager that they'd been kicked offline. The man reset the Wi-Fi over and over without success.

Sheppard sipped his coffee while sending a silent apology to the people who were being inconvenienced, pulling up short when Aaron held his hand out for the device. The former Outcome agent scrolled through the functions, tapped the screen in several places and suddenly, the Wi-Fi became available while still shielding their conversation from listeners.

"John Sheppard, Aaron Cross, my partner, Kevin Ryan," Esposito, pointed at each man in turn. They nodded in lieu of handshakes. "Nothing we say leaves this table."

It was obvious that Ryan didn't like the idea. "But…"

"I'm not kiddin', Ryan." All trace of humor vanished from Esposito's tone and manner. "You tell _anyone_ and the four of us'll be in adjoining rooms at Gitmo."

Trying to be casual, the detective shrugged one shoulder. "At least one of us speaks the language."

Sheppard raised his hand. "I speak Spanish."

Aaron cleared his throat. "Me too."

Sitting back in his chair, Ryan gave them all a long hard look. "Fine. I won't say a word." Ryan sipped his coffee, his eyes going from one man to the other waiting for someone to begin. "Not even Jenny."

As Ryan's partner, Sheppard gave that privilege to Esposito having already cautioned him about revealing certain details. Twenty minutes later the detective finished the story with, "…we were just on the way to a meet when you stopped us."

Ryan looked from one to the other, downed the last of his coffee in one gulp, set the cup down then leaned back to look under the table.

Aaron was the first to speak up. "Looking for something, Detective Ryan?"

"Tryin' to see which one of you is pulling my leg." He glanced at each face waiting for someone to give it away. No one so much as twitched. "I know you didn't tell me everything, but let's set that aside for now and say I believe all this…" he waved a hand at his partner and friends. "How'd the three of you meet in the first place?"

As if they'd rehearsed it, Sheppard, Esposito and Aaron said, "Afghanistan."

Snorting, Ryan said, "We been partners for six years, Espo. Tell me how…" he looked pointedly at them.

"Special Forces," said Esposito.

"Air Force," added Sheppard.

"Army," supplied Aaron.

"…a couple of _grunts_ hook up with a flyboy?" Ryan continued with hardly a pause after Aaron's addition.

Sitting back with a huff, Sheppard said, "That's an even longer story."

Inhaling sharply, Ryan nodded once at the Air Force officer. "And you're on vacation. Hunting drug dealers? Is that how you unwind?"

Sheppard considered some of the tight spots he'd gotten into when he was supposedly relaxing. Wraith attacks, being captured by Travelers, flung 48,000 years into the future, returning to Earth for his dad's funeral and wind up chasing a human-form replicator. "Chasing down a drug dealer and his supplier is a piece of cake compared to my day job." He turned his wrist over. "What say we get this meeting out of the way? We need to finish this ASAP. I've got a birthday party to get to."

Finishing off his coffee and tossing the cup in the trash, Esposito got to his feet followed by the others. "Wife? Girlfriend? Friend with benefits?"

"Niece. She'll be seven in a few days. Promised her I'd be there."

Aaron held the door open as the other three filed out. "We'll get you there on time."

Not responding, Sheppard went to Esposito's car, glancing at Ryan's vehicle parked beside it. "What about your Captain? Won't she be upset with both of you out?"

Esposito pounced on the excuse to leave his partner behind, snorting with wry humor. "They don't call her 'Iron Gates' for nothing. Ryan, have a few words with your contacts in the drug unit. Make a few casual inquiries."

"In the drug unit for three years, homicide for six and I'm relegated to being _your_ snitch."

With a glint of mischief in his dark brown eyes, Esposito said, "I think you mispronounced that word, Ryan."

The boyish-looking detective uttered a word most people wouldn't say in polite company, unlocked the company car and was on the road again leaving the other three more than a little annoyed. They got into Esposito's car and pulled into traffic.

~~O~~

Knocking on the door, Sherry waited for the building's lone occupant to let her in. Chewing on a thumbnail, she kept looking over her shoulder thinking she was being watched. She'd been paranoid all her adult life beginning when she dropped out of high school and ran away from home to New York. Within months, her bank accounts had been drained and she was living on the street doing whatever she could to make money to feed her drug habit. Now she was clean, but she just wasn't making enough legit money to suit her.

And then along came Michael Blanchard.

She'd been walking home from her waitressing job when Blanchard pulled to the curb looking her over like she was a common street walker. But that hadn't been his goal. He was looking for and enterprising person like her to help him in his business. The amount of money he offered had made her say yes before she even knew what the work entailed.

So here she was, waiting on yet another guy to find the time to fit her into his busy schedule. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then the door opened.

Tall and slender to the point of being skinny, Sherry was a sharp contrast to Blanchard. He was a few inches shorter than her, olive skinned with shoulders slightly hunched, as if he'd been hurt at one time and never regained full mobility. His dark hair was cut short with patches of auburn when the light hit it just right, his brown eyes flat and lifeless. And he never smiled. Not once in the months she'd known him.

Turning his back on her, he indicated she should follow him. Sherry locked the door behind her and rushed to catch up so she wouldn't be in this creepy place by herself. He led her to a corner, wordlessly offering her a seat. She perched on the edge of the worn sofa, her oversized purse clutched in front of her. Reaching inside, she drew out an envelope bulging with money and handed it to him.

He never counted it and she wondered if he did so after she left or trusted her to not cheat him. Not that she would. Something about him told her he wouldn't be lenient if he caught her skimming a bonus off the top. And if she was ever going to make it out of New York and back to Springfield, she had to be careful. "It's all in there."

"I know." Tossing the envelope on a table, he disappeared into the inky shadows. He called out to her, and she nervously made her way through the pallets and boxes stacked all around. "Over here."

Sherry finally found him standing in a brightly lit area that looked like something out of a whacked out medical drama. Off to the left, all the computer equipment gave the appearance of the command center of a spy network. She half expected to see a man dressed in a black turtleneck to suddenly appear out of nowhere, his face set into a stern mask as he took down a dozen opponents with nothing but his bare hands.

Blanchard handed her a brown paper bag. Inside, she knew were smaller bags filled with little white pills that she was to take to the dealers to be sold to whoever needed a boost and had the money to pay for the best.

Reaching into his pocket, Blanchard took out a wad of cash, thumbed through the bills, peeling off several of the larger denominations and handing them to her. "Thanks, Mr. Blanchard. I-I really appreciate you givin' me a chance…"

"Call me Michael."

"O-Of course. Michael. Um, well, thanks for, you know, everything." Shoving the cash into her wallet, she turned to go. A face displayed on one of the monitors caught her eye and she peered at him curiously. The man had the look of one who had seen and done things he was ashamed of, yet at the same time she got the feeling that he could kill her without a second thought, under the right circumstances. His medium brown hair was cut very short, almost like a Marine's, and his eyes were blue.

Following her gaze, Blanchard belatedly shut off the monitor. "Come back tomorrow at three. I have a few errands I'd like you to run for me."

She didn't have to be told not to tell anyone what she saw here. Hooking the purse over her shoulder, she said, "Sure. Bye."

And then, he smiled, and it changed his appearance so drastically that she couldn't help but return it. Turning away, she carefully navigated her way back to the door. In her car, she shoved the bag of pills under the front seat, buckled her seatbelt and started the engine thinking about the man on the monitor. Just before he turned it off, Blanchard has scowled, and a brief flash of intense rage wafted through the air, and she knew that Blanchard hated the man.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on remembering the face. Blanchard had treated her kindly when so many others just wanted to take advantage. More grateful than she could ever express, she decided that if she ever ran into this guy, the one her employer had such loathing for, she would see to it that he never bothered Blanchard again.

Now that she had a new purpose, the world of burdens on her shoulder seemed to have lifted somewhat. Waiting for an opening in traffic, she turned on the radio and started singing along.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 5**

Mitchell walked into sickbay and straight into Lam's office. All business now, he only _thought_ about kissing her. There would be time for that later now that Sheppard wasn't around to get underfoot. "Waller's awake, huh?"

Carolyn Lam looked up from her workstation, giving Mitchell a weak smile. "Yes. He's been conscious for a couple of hours. I didn't want to call you until we'd done some tests."

Leaning against the door jamb, he crossed his arms, a scowl that was part concern for the health of one of his men and part annoyance for the obvious lack of good judgment from same. "What's the verdict?"

The small smile Lam had given him turned into a frown. She waved him over indicating he should look at the screen. "Just out of curiosity, we did a DNA workup. He's had minor alterations to several different chromosomes."

"Such as?"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. He took the hint, moving behind her to massage her shoulders. Moaning in pleasure, she stopped him after a while. "There's been a slight rise in his mitochondrial protein update that's causing a barely perceptible increase in cellular temp. This will give him greater muscle efficiency and oxygenation. He's also is experiencing greater sensitivity in all five senses, but nothing abnormal except pain reception. Since Day One he's been a bit of a sissy when it came to getting blood taken. Said it hurt like hell."

"To be fair, your staff can be a little rough sometimes."

Lam leveled a mock angry glance at him then continued. "This time, he even watched while it was done without complaint."

"So what caused the change?" Mitchell gestured at the screen where Waller's test results were displayed.

From her desk she took the plastic bag Mitchell had given her after his search of Waller's quarters, holding it up and jiggling it. "The analysis indicated that it's not a drug in the traditional sense. It's actually closer to the retrovirus Dr. Beckett designed for the ATA gene therapy."

Waving a hand, Mitchell stood up straight. "You're telling me that someone's makin' a retrovirus and sellin' it on the streets as a fancy new recreational drug?"

"Apparently." Again she sighed. "Waller seems to be more comfortable talking to Dr. Kamala so I had him try to draw the information out of our patient. He got the pills while he was on leave at home in Brooklyn. He also said he'd planned on turning them over to the police, but then his curiosity got the better of him and he tried it."

Snorting, Mitchell said, "Damn stupid thing to do."

Lam nodded, agreeing with the Air Force officer. "I've done some checking. This drug started out in smaller cities that are close to large metropolitan areas. The feelers I put out brought some disquieting news. Some who take it suffer from flu-like symptoms and get better, reporting increased sensitivity to light, sound, taste, and so forth. Others get sick and fall into a coma like Waller and wake up with the sensitivity or they feel normal. Still others don't get sick at all and report nothing but a mild euphoria that disappears over the next day or so. According to my research, approximately eight percent of the users die as a result of taking it."

Mitchell's answer was short and to the point. "Crap."

"That's not the end of it, Cam. Several of the patients who've experienced the sensory sensitivity have been admitted to psychiatric facilities for observation. They're not able to sleep or concentrate. Some of them can't handle the changes and are having breakdowns. Sounds are too loud, lights are too bright and everything tastes 'wrong' to them. All they'll eat is bland foods. Rice, white bread, oatmeal, pasta with very little sauce and no spices. Water is the preferred drink. The facilities have been conducting tests at my requests."

"Let me guess. More…" Mitchell made air quotes, "…disturbing news?"

"Yes." She smiled gratefully at him when he handed her a bottle of water after twisting the top loose. "Basically the same as Waller." Again she indicated the screen. Now up were the sensory tests and Waller had passed with flying colors. "…His eyesight used to be 20/20. Now its 20/17. That's not a huge change, but still significant."

Mitchell paced in the small room while rubbing the back of his head. "Anything you can do about it?"

Sighing again, she rested an elbow on the desk and dropped her chin into it. "Keep him under observation until we're certain he's not a danger to himself or others."

"Y'know, Sheppard's in New York. Let's get him to do a little sniffin' around for us."

"He's on _vacation_, Cam. You can't ask him…"

A chuckle burst out of Mitchell. "Sheppard 'n his friend didn't go to New York to watch _Les Miz_, Carolyn. They're up to somethin' and I'm bettin' it has to do with…" He tapped the bag of pills, seeing the moment she gave in. She clicked a few keys on her computer, sending the info to Sheppard's PDA. Then, with an affectionate smile, Mitchell took her by the hand and urged her to stand. "Now that that's all over, someone else can observe him while _you_ rest. Colonel's orders."

She didn't immediately begin walking so he tugged to get her moving. "But Cam, I have too much work to do."

"It can wait. Come on." Relentlessly, he led her through the halls, into the lift and out on the resident level. At her room, he scanned his card to open the door, pushed her through then followed, closing the door behind him. "Go get a shower then get in bed."

With a smile, she reached up to kiss him. "You take such good care of me. Dinner later?"

"After your nap."

Lam went into the bathroom, already shedding her white lab coat. Mitchell turned down the bed and laid out her favorite pajamas. After dimming the lights, he left the room and returned to Landry's office to catch up on paperwork.

~~O~~

Music blasted from the speakers, loud with a heavy bass line. Harper removed her clothes on the way to the bathroom then the shower came on. She sang along to the music while moving her body to the beat under the hot water as she washed her hair then the rest of her. She rinsed and shut the water off. Wrapping a towel around her head, she air dried as she went to the 'fridge for a drink.

Back in the bathroom, she removed the towel and tossed it over the shower rod to dry. Picking up a comb, she ran it through her shoulder length brown hair, turning side to side to examine the blonde streaks she had put in. On her job, she'd been discouraged from doing anything unusual with her hair so she wouldn't stand out. But that wasn't a problem any longer. Hadn't been for a while. Now she changed to suit herself, not someone else. Though calling her handler a manager or supervisor was just ridiculous. The actual shot-caller was a step above him in the hierarchy, and not exactly lenient when mistakes were made or when someone wanted time off without clearing it first. She found that out when she took an unauthorized three-day weekend at San Moritz. After her punishment-ten days at the training facility in Alaska-she had played the game like a good girl. Or pretended to, using her contacts to create a life away from the company. That's why _she_ was here and _they_ were gone. Good thing she caught onto them before they could do to her what had been done to the others.

When she heard about the shooting at the lab, Harper had immediately abandoned the job she'd been assigned to and went underground where she stayed until the need for her daily meds became serious. Something she'd noticed in the news flash about the shooting was the missing names. CNN reported that Dr. Marta Shearing had been the sole survivor, but Harper knew differently. There was another that hadn't been listed among the casualties: Dr. Daniel Ortiz. He too had gone underground, but she knew him. Knew how he thought and what mattered to him most. It had only taken a few days to track him down and that's how she found out that she and the others had been lied to for nearly a year. With a little persuasiveness on her part, he had cured her of the need for the blue program meds.

Taking a firm hand with her thoughts, she forced them to settle down so she could concentrate on stopping Trance. Tonight she would follow a lead, and hopefully it would get her the info she needed to take down whomever it was doing this terrible thing.

With her hair nearly dry, she chose to leave it loose for now, slipping an elastic band into her pocket in case she needed to get it out of the way later. For some reason her thoughts drifted to a man she knew years before. They had met one day in the coffee shop across from the lab where she went for her periodic check-ups and training. They had struck up a conversation, eventually becoming friends. Harper had sensed something there that could've turned into more, if they had been allowed to explore it. But work had interfered in all her personal relationships. She hadn't even seen her mother since well before taking her now former job, and wanted to see her again. And she would. Soon. It would be a shock, appearing out of the blue when Mom thought she was dead, but Harper didn't know of a way to soften the blow.

Harper still did the same work, but now she did it for herself, choosing the jobs she would take. She didn't answer to anyone except her clients. They always went away happy and often showed their appreciation monetarily, whether with cash or in the form of expensive gifts. The cars were sold and the money donated to worthy causes, with a small percentage tucked away in case she had to disappear in a hurry. The jewelry, well, most of that she kept in a safe place. She was a woman, after all. For every-day, she wore the modest pieces, keeping the more extravagant ones for her work.

Taking her suitcase from the closet, she removed her clothes from the hangers one at a time, folding and placing them inside in an organized, almost OCD manner. It was something she'd been taught as a child. One of the few things that hadn't been taken from her by the program though they'd tried. When playing a part, she fully integrated herself into the character, changing her mannerisms, speech patterns, accent, even the way she walked. Then, when the job was done, she became herself again.

Tucking the bag with her jewelry and other small items into the pocket, she went over the information she'd gathered from her sources, sorting, categorizing and discarding the useless bits that just cluttered up her mind.

Harper's phone beeped to tell her she had a text. It was from Nicky saying that he needed to see her immediately. She texted back her thanks while being puzzled at the same time. How could he have finished the analysis so quickly? Normally it took at least three days with Nicky doing the tests several times to double check the results. She tapped out her response then sighed as she pulled out her Muffy disguise. Shoving the stilettos into her bag, she put on skinny jeans, a super-tight shirt, sneakers and a bolero jacket, deciding to dispense with the heavy make-up just this once. Nicky probably wouldn't notice anyway.

She locked the door, pinning her hair up as she headed for the stairwell and ran down to the ground floor. Jogging to the subway, she dodged the people walking and texting, around a hot dog cart and past the newsstand thinking what a shame it was that books, magazines and newspapers were falling out of favor now that so many were getting their news and information from the Internet.

Descending into the Earth, Harper did her best to ignore the smell of garbage and sweat, as well as the dampness of the subway platform. A train was just pulling out as she joined a group waiting for the next one, several checking the time and huffing as if it were running late. Having committed the schedules to memory, she knew that wasn't the case, and refused to play the game. Patience was a virtue. It also made her good at what she did. Waiting for the right moment to take out a target was sometimes a lengthy process, and like the other participants, she'd been well trained. She'd always been easygoing and laidback. The conditioning had simply improved on what was already there, tempering it with increased intelligence and physical stamina.

Prior to being recruited, Harper had dreaded winter because she was so sensitive to the cold, often dressing in warm clothes when it got below seventy. Now, it wasn't a problem. She still got cold, but not as easily as she used to. The changes she'd undergone didn't do much for her dislike of cold weather-that was as great as ever. But at least she could function normally instead of hiding out in her apartment when the temperature plunged to the thirties and below. Cold weather was coming up again and she wanted her current mission completed well before then so she could return to her home on Palau.

The train pulled into the station where she changed to another route and soon she was at her destination. Nicky's wife again let her in then shuffled toward the kitchen. This time she could smell food cooking. Mexican lasagna. The scent of chili powder and cumin stung her nasal passages making her eyes water. Taking a tissue from her purse, she dabbed at her eyes until she closed the back door.

Knocking on the lab door, Harper smiled when it opened to show Nicky's grave expression. She immediately sensed something wrong, and it was more than just the fact that he wasn't smiling back. "What's wrong?"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. Before closing the door, he stuck his head out, looked around then slammed and locked the door. Stocky and strong, the chemist gripped her upper arms tightly, almost to the point of pain. "Where did you get them?"

"I told ya. Corbin gave 'em to me. What's goin' on here, Nicky? Please. You're hurtin' me."

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he let her go. One hand rubbed the back of his neck as he moved past her to a work bench. Leaning both hands on the edge, he inhaled then exhaled slowly. "I didn't have all the equipment necessary to do the analysis so I called a friend who…let's say he fell out of favor with the company he worked for and now free-lances."

"You told somebody else?! Nicky!" Staying in character, she pretended nervousness she didn't feel, taking out her phone and almost dropping it. "Oh! Corbin's gonna be pissed!" she moaned.

Nicky stopped her from dialing by taking the phone and shutting it off. "Then _don't_ tell him. This is just between us for now." He gripped her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. "You can do that, can't you?"

"Uh…" she paused as if his request required careful thought. "Yeah. Yeah, I can. But what if…"

"He won't find out. My friend is very cautious when it comes to doing business so there's no need to worry." Urging her into a comfortable overstuffed chair, Nicky went to the refrigerator, returning with a bottle of diet cola. "The chemical make-up of the drugs you brought me is very complex. There are only a handful of people in the US who have the specialized knowledge to create it. Most of them work for the government."

To hide her thoughts, Harper took a long drink while working out the ramifications of Trance being made by a former member of the program. Dr. Ortiz couldn't possibly be doing it and she doubted that Dr. Shearing was the type to be involved either. There had to be someone else. If only she'd gotten to Byer's laptop before the hard drive had been wiped. He'd taken his own life right after so she didn't even get a chance to question him for the answer. Question? No. Interrogate? Yes. And she had ample skills in that department. The program had seen to it.

Then a thought occurred to her. What if Byer hadn't been the one to destroy the information? What if he hadn't killed himself? What if someone else, someone with the knowledge and skills to create Trance had killed Byer and made it look like a suicide then copied the files? What if she wasn't the only participant to survive and her contacts were wrong? Those questions and more lit up inside her head like neon signs. Reluctantly, she tuned back into what Nicky was saying.

"…and unfortunately, the analysis process destroyed the pills or I would give them back."

"Corbin understands. So what kinda stuff do ya need to make Trance?"

Pacing from the workbench to the door and back, a hand to his chin in thought, Nicky said, "First you'd have to have power. Lots of it. The equipment will need to be housed in a 'clean' room to keep them free of dust, airborne microbes, aerosol particles, chemical vapors and other environmental pollutants. The person or persons must have the correct knowledge to use the equipment as well as create the drug which isn't really a drug after all."

"It's not? Then what is it?"

"I suppose you could call it a fancy virus only this one makes you feel good instead of bad."

Tilting her head to the side like a dog, she scrunched her forehead in thought. "So takin' Trance is like gettin' a flu shot?"

Finally, Nicky smiled, even chuckled at her question. "That's a simplistic way of putting it, but yes. And only the creator of Trance would know why he or she would want to 'infect' people."

Pretending to consult her phone, Harper asked questions that someone like Muffy would be expected to ask including some given to her by her supposed boyfriend. Though she didn't need to, she took down his answers in meticulous detail. When she had all she needed, at least for the moment, Harper turned down Nicky's offer to join he and his wife for dinner.

Returning to her hotel, she ordered a pizza and diet cola from room service, called to let the front desk know she would be staying another week at least, took out her computer and got to work. There couldn't be that many places in New York where one could set up the type of lab needed to make Trance. All she had to do was find it.

~~O~~

"No! Ryan sits in or no deal."

Melanie stuck her bottom lip out and crossed her arms stubbornly exasperating Esposito. His tone dropped into a husky rumble he knew women liked though it had never worked with her, and it didn't today. Melanie shook her head seeming to be more skittish than usual.

"Detective Ryan couldn't come this time, Melanie. My friends and I only have a few questions. We're prepared to pay you double."

Out the side of his mouth, Sheppard whispered, "Triple."

"…triple. Come on. Please?" He was glad Cross had stayed in the car to make a call or the price paid to this CI would've gone way up.

"I don't wanna get in no trouble, Detective Esposito. When Ryan shows up _then_ we can talk. Not b'fore."

Seeing that she wouldn't budge, Esposito took out his phone and walked away from the others to call Ryan. He came back a few minutes later, his eyes dark showing a spark of anger. No one said anything about the argument they overheard. "Gates had him running down leads on a case. He can't meet us for over an hour."

The slim hope that knowing Ryan would be a while would spur her to talk died a quick death when she said, "Fine. I'll see ya at the diner then" and stalked away.

Watching her go, Esposito huffed in that way a man does when confronted with an exasperating woman. Melanie was annoying and not in the good way. Sheppard came over to him, taking up the same pose, and there they were when Aaron joined them.

"What's the word?"

"The word for today is no. She won't talk until Ryan's here."

Crossing his arms so they looked like three mismatched statues, Aaron said, "So get him here. We need to know who's doing what out there and surfing the 'net isn't getting us the right kind of info."

Swiveling his head around so he could look at Aaron, Esposito huffed again. "Preachin' to the choir, Cross. She won't talk, and I know better than to push or she'll become a vault. Then, even Ryan won't be able to get her to open up."

"What is it with those two? They're not…" Sheppard lifted an eyebrow significantly.

"No. Ryan's very happily married and working on his second kid. They met when Ryan was in Narcotics before transferring to Homicide, she witnessed the hit on an undercover cop and Ryan had to break cover to save her. Sometimes she'll talk to me if I'm alone, but mostly he has to be there." He shrugged. "Thought I'd take a shot."

Sheppard backed up and headed for the car. "Where's this diner?"

"Not far," Esposito responded as he got behind the wheel. Aaron jumped into the shotgun seat with a mischievous smirk forcing Sheppard to sit in the back where he bounced his heel against the floorboard until Esposito wanted to slug him. The heel tapping stopped though when Sheppard's fancy PDA beeped. To both men, Esposito said, "Melanie was an addict, living on the streets and working as a mule for one of the locals. Ryan was undercover as a college student with a hefty tuition bill coming after losing his scholarship and he couldn't pay. A classmate introduced him to one of the lieutenants in the group and within just a couple of months Ryan had made himself indispensable to their organization.

"A couple of weeks in, he and a DEA agent made each other. Trouble was so did one of the leader's lieutenants who got the boot when the DEA guy was brought in. Long story short, one night, Ryan's overseeing a shipment when he hears gunshots and a scream. Melanie comes running through the warehouse with this whacko on her tail. Ryan tries to protect her and takes one in the arm. It's not much, but he's gotta protect the civilian so they cut and run. With her testimony, the shooter went to prison for life and the rest are in until they're old enough to join AARP.

"After that, Ryan helped her get clean. Even offered to front her the money to get back home to Nampa, Idaho, but she refused so he got her a job at the diner up the street. She's not using, but still has contacts in the biz. And every so often she comes up with a tip that pans out."

Esposito signaled and pulled into traffic, coming to a stop at the light.

"Since we've got an hour or so to kill, I need a few things," Aaron said.

"Yeah? Like what?"

A slow smile came over his face. "Is there a Discount City 'round here?"

~~O~~

From her place at the far end of the dining room, Sherry watched four men enter and take a seat in Melanie's station. Two of them she'd seen here before, long ago she'd come to the conclusion that they were cops and Melanie was their CI. She knew the other girl was saving every penny she could to get her GED and go to college, but did she have to keep company with cops to do it?

The tallest of the group had dark hair that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed and hadn't bothered to comb it. But what caught her eye was the fourth man in the group. She'd seen that face just the day before. It was the guy on the monitor. The one Michael hated. And now here he was in the diner with a couple of cops and their pal who was probably a cop too the way his eyes kept darting around the room. But they didn't matter. Just the one with the sandy hair.

Sherry was on her way to offer them menus as a pretext so she could listen in on their conversation, but Melanie beat her to it. Grabbing a tray, Sherry set four cups out and picked up the coffee pot. From her pocket, she took two pills and dropped them into one of the cups, paused, then added a third. As Melanie came near, she put on a smile. "Your guys want coffee, Mel?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

As she neared the table, she put a perky bounce to her step and a big smile on her face to throw them off. Setting the tray on an empty table, she poured coffee and passed out cups while chattering nonsensically about the weather and football, making sure to set the one with the pills to the sandy-haired man.

Sherry returned to the set-up station where Melanie was wiping down a ketchup bottle. "I need to take a break soon as their food comes up. Do you mind watchin' my station? I'll make it up to you."

"No problem." She grinned slyly. "Didn't see no wedding rings on three of 'em. Think you could slip my number to at least one?"

Rolling her eyes, Melanie added the ketchup to a condiment caddy and set it next to her tray. "They're _all_ cops, Sher. Sure you wanna go there with _your_ history?"

"What better way to stay on the straight and narrow knowing you got a cop waitin' for ya at home?"

Chuckling, Melanie went to pick up her order and carry it to the table while Sherry watched the sandy-haired man nod and smile when her co-worker set a plate of food in front of him. With the triple dose she laced his coffee with he wouldn't be smiling for long. Hopefully, he'd be dead in a day or two. Michael would be so grateful he'd bring her even farther into the business, maybe even make her a partner. Yeah, tonight was going to be a _good_ night.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Thank you for being so patient waiting for this chapter.

Gracias,

Sandy

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 6**

The men applied themselves to eating while they waited for Melanie to join them. Ryan lifted his coffee cup and took a sniff. "This is decaf, right?"

With a grin, Aaron said, "It is."

"You sure? 'Cause I don't wanna be up all night."

"Very."

Ryan gulped down half the cup, making a sound of disgust. "That's even worse than usual." He added maple syrup to his short stack of pancakes, cut a huge bite and shoved it in his mouth.

His partner cringed. "Dude!"

Around the food, Ryan said, "Haven't eaten since this morning. When you called, I was finishing up leads for Beckett then heading home for dinner with my family. Excuse _me_ if forget my manners just this once."

"Well, it's embarrassing."

Rolling his eyes, Ryan didn't rise to Esposito's baiting as he took another bite, chewed and swallowed then finished off the coffee. About the time he was ready for a second cup, Melanie came to the table with the pot, refilling their cups before dragging a chair over to join them. He could see she was nervous and touched her shoulder, adding a smile of encouragement. "We appreciate this, Melanie. These guys are cool."

"Okay. What d'you wanna know?" The young woman's accent came from the Midwest. Not that unusual here in New York.

Glancing at his colleagues then back to Melanie, Ryan lowered his voice so it wouldn't carry in the nearly empty diner. "There's word on the streets of a new product called Trance."

"Heard of it. Don't know anyone who's tried it though. It's bad, huh?"

Esposito leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Yes, it is. We have some questions, if you don't mind."

"Sure. Don't know if I can help, but I'll try."

Ryan let Sheppard, Cross and Esposito ask the questions, and was glad to do it because his stomach wasn't feeling so good. _Must've eaten too fast_, he told himself as a brief wave of dizziness reminded him of the last time he had the flu. He'd spent four days at home with Jenny waiting on him hand and foot. Then, when _she_ got sick, he returned the favor. That had been in the early days of their marriage.

This time, he'd send his family to stay with her folks so they wouldn't catch it, _if_ this turned out to be more than just indigestion. Feeling worse by the minute, Ryan swore to himself because it looked like he'd be on his own for the next couple of days.

Excusing himself, Ryan stepped outside so he could talk privately. Jenny answered on the second ring. "Hey, honey. I think I'm coming down with the flu. Take Michael and go stay with your parents for a couple of days…Honey…I _know_. But if you're pregnant, I don't want you getting sick too…Yes, I'll go to the doctor in the morning…Promise…Love you too."

The dizziness was back forcing Ryan to lean against the side of the building for support. Squeezing his eyes shut only made it worse so he waited it out. But it didn't get better as his stomach clenched and his hastily eaten meal made a return appearance. His legs went all rubbery causing him to fall to his hands and knees just as his partner came out.

"Ryan! You okay?"

A sudden chill worked its way down his spine though he was perspiring. "Uh, no. Not really."

Esposito helped Ryan stand, Sheppard and Aaron joining them. Sheppard helped get Ryan into the back seat. Aaron got in next to him as Esposito started the engine. "Let's get him home."

~~O~~

They'd gone about a mile when Ryan began to convulse. "He needs a hospital. Hurry!" Aaron shouted.

Esposito stuck the gumball on top and fired up the siren. The other drivers cleared the road as the detective took the turns as fast as he dared, screeching to a stop at the door of Mercy General. Sheppard helped Esposito carry Ryan inside.

"Hey! We need a doctor here!" Esposito called out. The medical staff rushed forward, two nurses pushing a stretcher. Together, the men lifted the now unconscious Ryan onto the stretcher then stumbled out of the way when a doctor pushed passed them.

After a quick exam, the doctor began issuing orders for tests that meant little to all but Aaron. Esposito tried to followed, incensed when the doors were closed in his face. Aaron touched him on the arm, nodding to the waiting room. Esposito made a call and thirty minutes later, Jenny arrived. The detective hugged her while she asked questions he didn't have answers to yet.

Then, the doctor came to the door. "Kevin Ryan."

"I'm Jenny Ryan, his wife. What's wrong with my husband, Doctor?"

"He's come down with what appears to be an unknown virulent strain of the flu. I've only seen a couple of cases like it recently. If the tests confirm that's what he has, we'll have a better idea of how to help him. Right now, we're doing everything we can. He's on oxygen and we're giving him antiviral medication, but without knowing the specific virus, the best we can do is slow it down and treat the symptoms." The doctor's phone beeped. "That's the lab. Hopefully…"

Taking a deep breath, Jenny nodded. "I need to see him."

"Of course. This way. The nurse will get you into a gown and mask as a precaution."

Nodding, she hugged Esposito once more then let the doctor lead her through a set of automatic doors. Going to the reception desk, Esposito gave the man his card. "Call me if his condition changes."

Looking at the card, the man looked skeptical. "Are you a family member?"

"You could say that. I'm his _partner_." With that, Esposito walked back to the waiting room, joined by Sheppard and Aaron.

Voice low, Sheppard asked, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Esposito answered with a single word, "Trance."

Aaron added, "But how did he get it? Ryan doesn't seem the type."

"He spent five years with Narcotics and doesn't even like to take aspirin for a headache."

Aaron crossed his arms, his forefinger and thumb pulling at his lower lip in thought. "This couldn't've been an accident. Someone knows we're investigating and is trying to stop us. But who, and how did they find out?"

Sheppard pointed his chin at the door then followed the others out. Esposito walked with quick, angry steps. He paced back and forth a few times then stopped, drew back his fist slamming it against the side of a metal recycling bin. Sheppard knew the feeling of helplessness, the need to confront the ones responsible. It happen when Ford became addicted to the Wraith enzyme and again when the former Marine dosed his team. He'd wanted to wipe the smug grin off Ford and his pals' faces.

And Rodney had purposely addicted himself so he could get away and send help. It didn't matter that he hadn't been able to remember the 'gate address or exactly how long Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon had been gone. They got out of it alive thanks to Ford, who gave his life to save theirs. And at least the SGC had some idea of what was going on in case they didn't make it back.

Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, Sheppard let him see the sympathy and understanding in his eyes. Esposito nodded and the three men walked to the car, got in and drove back to the detective's apartment.

~~O~~

Aaron spent the ride staring out the window thinking about the months prior to being viraled off the blues. There was no doubt in his mind that Byer had given the order that kept the Outcome assets chained to the greens after there'd been no need for them.

When he first came into the program, he'd been in good physical condition once his wounds had healed. Intellectually? If the recruiter hadn't added points to his test he wouldn't have been in Iraq when the IED blew up the convoy. He wasn't sure if he should thank the man or hunt him down and kill him.

Taking out the iPad he purchased at Discount City, he created search programs to help them locate who was making and distributing Trance. While it was running, he tracked down Marta by hacking into the IRS to get her employment information. Once he had that, finding out where she lived was easy. Aaron didn't know if she checked the anonymous email accounts they'd set up as a precaution when they first returned to the U.S. Just in case, he sent her a short email with a coded warning so she could protect herself.

She had unimpeachable alibis for the outbreaks so no one would be able to make accusations. The authorities might _try_, but it wouldn't get them far. That didn't mean she couldn't have hired someone. However, a quick perusal of her bank accounts showed nothing amiss. Still, she had learned how to travel small, to go unnoticed. She probably had everything she'd need to disappear at her fingertips, if it came to that. He had to give her kudos for learning that particular lesson so quickly.

Sheppard came out of the bathroom, went to the closet, grabbed a pillow and blanket then went to sit on the sofa with Esposito. The detective surfed the channels until he came to a sports channel, and just sat there holding the remote in his lap.

Taking his duffle bag, Aaron headed for the bathroom, already anticipating the feel of hot water cascading over his tired and achy body. Before he even opened the door, he again smelled the unmistakable scent of a woman. In Fayzabad, he'd gotten the impression that Esposito was a serious skirt chaser. Now, he knew differently. If there had been more than one woman in his apartment, Aaron would've been able to tell.

After his shower, Aaron set his pillow on a dining room chair then dropped into the armchair at right angles to the sofa. To lighten the atmosphere, he asked Esposito, "You got a girl, Javi?"

The expression on his friend's face immediately softened. "Yeah. What of it?"

"What does she do?"

"Medical Examiner. She's out of town for a couple days." Then he thought again. "How'd you know?"

A half smile lifted one side of his mouth. "I can smell her."

Esposito seemed taken aback by that admission. "Really?"

"Yeah. A combination of Vidal Sassoon, Calvin Klein's Eternity and…" Aaron sniffed the air, his smile just a little ill at ease, "…well, let's just say I'm sure you don't spend all your time together watching basketball."

Embarrassed and trying not to show it, Esposito applied more attention to changing the channel than the act warranted. "She doesn't keep her stuff here and there're no pictures. How did you…"

Tapping the side of his nose, Aaron winked. It broke some of the tension allowing the men to finally get interested in a game.

~~O~~

The sound of the shower mixed with the low volume of the basketball game Sheppard wasn't really watching. Esposito wasn't watching either from the look in his eyes. Sheppard knew he was worried about his partner, and with good reason. No one knew for certain how many people had used Trance who hadn't been sick enough to go to the doctor.

Lam had sent him info the she'd gathered when she realized what it was doing to people. Sergeant Waller was the only member of the SGC known to have taken it, and what Lam said about it really got under Sheppard's collar. She'd sent him a rundown of the symptoms as well as the possible long-term side effects including ending up in the psych ward. In her estimate, six to eight percent of the users died. It was all speculation though. Dr. Lee had probably performed some complicated mathematics to come up with the figures.

The shower shut off, and a few minutes later Aaron joined them. He took a pillow and blanket from the closet then dropped wearily into the armchair. Sheppard saw the wheels spinning, and sure enough, Aaron started a conversation with the sullen Esposito about the detective's girlfriend. When that was over, he asked, "How much do you know about Melanie?"

Esposito was already shaking his head. "Wasn't her. She's a nice girl and all, but doesn't have the smarts to think of something like this on her own. And she'd never do it to Ryan."

Aaron took out the iPad he'd picked up at Discount City along with other items he would need. "I programmed a search into the computer. It came up with a list of possible addresses where Trance could be manufactured. Now it's running a comparison between those addresses and all the companies where our mystery assailant could've ordered the equipment and ingredients to make it." He tapped the screen. "Most of the places are in high traffic areas. My guess is he or she needs to be able to come and go with little chance of being seen."

Sheppard turned in his seat, concern in his expression. "Which leaves us with what?"

"Four addresses in the warehouse district near the Hudson River." Aaron gave the addresses hoping Esposito, who had grown up in New York, would have an epiphany about where to start. He didn't. It was too late and they were too tired to check them out tonight. Morning would do just as well.

The next morning, Esposito drove toward the first of the warehouses on Aaron's list. The detective glanced at the gumball, dark now that it was turned off, and Sheppard knew his friend fought the urge to rush. But if they went in with guns blazing and the sirens blaring, they stood the chance of their quarry getting away or going even deeper underground making him even harder to find.

When they reached the first address, Esposito opened the trunk and passed Sheppard and Aaron each a Kevlar vest. Aaron held his up with a frown. "Writer?"

Shrugging one shoulder, the detective handed M16s to Sheppard and Aaron, keeping the lone L118A sniper rifle for himself. "It belongs to Castle. He's a mystery writer who does ride alongs with the team and is engaged to Beckett."

"He's been at it a while if he has his own vest."

"Since, uh, 2009." He slammed the trunk. "Let's do this."

With the stealth of a highly trained Black Ops team, the three men did a quick recon of the warehouse, returning to the car a few minutes later in disappointment. Same thing at the second address where they found a pot farm. Esposito gave a call to Narcotics as they continued on to their next destination where they once again found frustration lurking over them like a cloud.

"Fourth time's the charm," Sheppard remarked with a hint of dry humor. Aaron didn't respond and what Esposito said shouldn't be repeated in polite company.

The homicide cop changed his tune when their recon yielded different results. The doors were locked and though Esposito had expected it to be harder to get in, he was not averse to the ease with which Aaron had picked the lock.

~~O~~

With a weary sigh, Sherry opened the front door of Cheesy Pete's, taking her jacket off as she passed through the door into the break room where the employees had lockers. She stashed her purse and jacket, and was just tying an apron around her waist when she heard sniffling coming from the corner table. The television hanging from the ceiling showed the news. Melanie was sitting with a half empty cup of coffee and holding a napkin wadded up in one hand.

Sherry slid into the chair next to her co-worker. "What's wrong, Mel? Stuart being an asshole again?"

"We broke up last night."

"Oh, honey. I'm sorry." Touching Melanie on the arm, she waited for the other woman to look at her. "Anything I can do?"

Melanie shook no. "I'll be okay. It was just so sudden." She took a sip of coffee. "You know those guys that came in last night?"

Sherry did, but gave the impression of trying to recall their faces. "Yeah, sorta. Why?"

"One of 'em's in the hospital. I heard he took some new drug, but don't believe it! He's a cop with a wife and baby. He wouldn't do that."

_The guy's a cop?! Crap! I thought he was one of Michael's rivals or something_. Out loud, Sherry said, "Oh wow! Which one was it?"

Taking another napkin, Melanie dabbed at her eyes. "The one in the dark blue jacket and tie. Came in last." She looked at the clock above the door. "Time to go to work."

Sherry responded absently, still trying to process the fact that she'd hit the wrong man, deciding not to mention it to Michael when she saw him tonight.

~~O~~

Sheppard signaled, Aaron and Esposito nodded, and on the count of three, Esposito opened the door, Aaron and Sheppard rushing in with the detective on their six. Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit except for a pool of light to left. As they approached, Aaron could hear the click of computer keys. Whoever had been creating Trance was a member of Outcome and Aaron took it as a personal affront that this person had used their vast knowledge to pervert what Marta had done in service to her country. While she'd had altruistic intentions, others had done the perverting and kept her in the dark about it. Catching the culprit would be a victory for them both whether she knew it or not. He had no plans to tell her, but life had a way of tripping you up just when you thought the way was clear.

He edged up to a stack of boxes, the labels indicating they were filled with high tech medical equipment, computers, and the like. Peeking around the corner, he saw a figure hunched over a computer keyboard, information scrolling across the screen faster than even he could read from this distance. Beyond that, a series of clean room tents had been set up, the machines inside whirring and humming as they followed their programming.

Aaron signaled that he would go first and received affirmative from the others. Raising his weapon, he counted to three and burst out of hiding, Sheppard and Esposito one step behind and on either side of him. "On your feet. Hands where I can see 'em."

Two hands came up, arms held out to the sides as the chair was pushed back and the figure dressed all in black stood. Expecting to see a man, all three men exchanged puzzled looks when they realized their prisoner had the shapely curves of a woman.

Sheppard took a step forward. "Why are you doing this? Who do you work for?"

She shook her head seeming to be laughing at them, or at their theory. Aaron couldn't be sure. "Can I turn around? Please? I kinda like seeing who I'm talking to."

Aaron had to see the face of his enemy before he put her in prison for the rest of her life. "Slowly, and don't…"

"…make any sudden moves. I know the drill, Kenny." Very slowly, she turned to face the men, lips pursed in attempt to keep a grin from getting loose. It was a losing battle, and by the time she fully faced them, the grin had turned into a smirk, one eyebrow lifted as she waited patiently.

Inhaling sharply, Aaron's eyes widened in disbelief. Only one person had ever called Kenneth Kitsom by that nickname. "June? June Monroe?"

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 7**

Harper dragged her eyes down to Aaron's feet then back up to his face as he flicked a glance at his companions. She gave them each a cursory glance and came back to Aaron, her hands dropping slowly down to her sides. "I _was_ June Munroe. Once. Going by Harper Finley these days."

"Why?"

"Why the name change or why am I here?"

Relief made her smile when he lowered his weapon. His friends did too, and that took some of the tension out of the atmosphere. He walked a few steps closer, his blue-gray eyes searching her face. She knew she looked the same as she had the last time they'd seen each other. Her hair was shorter and streaked with blonde, but it was still her. Funny how all these years later she still missed their time together, their friendship.

"Both."

"Same as you, I expect. My designation in the program was Outcome Two."

Still wary of her, but willing to let her talk in order to gather information, Aaron said, "Outcome Five. Byer had everyone killed. Or so I thought."

"So did I until…" she looked at her watch, "…two minutes and seventeen seconds ago. I should be asking what _you're_ doing here and why you brought the heat with you. Didn't think you could handle me alone, Kenny?"

"Aaron."

Pursing her lips, she hoped Aaron would see the humor in their situation too. When they'd known each other before, he hadn't been that quick on the uptake though he'd made progress in the time they'd known each other. Back in the day, he hadn't had the air of confidence and power surrounding him that he did now. A change for the better as far as she was concerned.

The cop's eyes and expression didn't waver though the taller of the three still frowned. Nodding at each of his companions, Aaron made introductions, "Colonel John Sheppard, Air Force. Detective Javier Esposito, NYPD. His partner's in the hospital. We think he was dosed with Trance. If you're not the one manufacturing and distributing it, why are you here?"

"Sorry about your partner. What I'm doing here is the same thing you are, apparently. Trying to stop the one doing it before he or she kills more people or turns them into assets, and does what he's been planning to do for whatever reason."

Aaron scoffed. Harper could see he had ideas, but wanted to hear her take on the situation. "Oh? And what is he or she planning to do, June?"

"_Harper_, please. In my opinion…" her eyes widened making her look more than a little crazed. "He's going to try to take over the _world_."

~~O~~

The last was said in a voice that Aaron hadn't heard in a long time. Not since he lived at the state home in Reno. When he met June-_Harper_-they'd gotten to know each other as friends and found a mutual fondness for a defunct cartoon called _Pinky and the Brain_. It made Aaron smile wistfully. Realizing what he was doing, he forced himself to stop. "The _entire_ world? How very supervillian-ish of him."

Motioning them to her, Harper returned to her seat, hands back on the keyboard. "Not all of the world, but parts of it. Don't know everything yet, but I'm working on it. Wanna help?"

Aaron and Harper didn't see Esposito and Sheppard exchanging befuddled glances behind them as they came to stand where they too could see the monitor.

Over her shoulder, Harper said, "Not so close guys. Can't work with you breathing down my neck."

She typed a few more commands and a moment later, a large plasma screen lit up displaying what was on the monitor in front of her. Sheppard and Esposito, reluctant to trust Harper so easily, moved back and turned to watch the information flow over the screen while keeping an eye on her at the same time. Aaron knew they would take their cues from him until the three of them could talk. He would trust her…for now.

"I need your help for this next part, Kenny."

"Aaron."

Harper twitched her shoulders in a sort of shrug without looking at him. There was a time when he had trusted her implicitly, without question. That had been in the early days of the program. The years since then had taught him otherwise, and not just about her. Years ago, Harper left without saying good-bye and never tried to contact him again. Now he knew why. That bullsh** in Alaska with Outcome Three aside, he'd never met another member of the program, and to find out that she was like him, that she understood the dangers-and the joys-of being enhanced… He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was.

Seeing what she was up to, Aaron took a seat in front of another computer and began typing. The system was more complicated than either of them had thought and it would take their combined skills to hack in.

More than a little curious about, well, a lot of things, Aaron made a mental note to ask the questions when their lives slowed down a little. Surreptitiously, he stuck a thumb drive in the port on his right. It was programmed to automatically download the computer's information as soon as it was accessed. And it started doing just that a moment later. "Where're you getting your chems?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Don't need them. Found out by accident that the greens weren't necessary and hadn't been for almost a year. Got help with the blues."

Nodding though he knew she wouldn't see, he said, "You were viraled off. How? Dr. Shearing's the only member of the Outcome staff still alive. There's no way you could've contacted her until a few months ago."

She didn't bother looking up as she continued to type. "It wasn't Shearing. Didn't even know who she was until the shooting at the lab. By the time I reached her home, there was nothing left but pile of ash. The news reports said she'd died in the fire."

"They lied."

"How do you know?"

Aaron didn't want to talk about Marta, but he had to get to a place where it no longer hurt to hear her name or think about her. Strange but just now, when he thought about that day, it still pained him that they'd had to destroy her home. However, he no longer felt a twinge in the region of his heart that had plagued him since the day they'd broken up. Maybe he _was_ starting to heal. "A wet team was sent to her home. I took them out. We were on the run together for the next two years."

Harper was silent so long Aaron thought she hadn't heard him. Then she said, "I'm sorry." She sounded sincere. He also knew that she'd gone through the same training as he did and could be whoever she wanted or had to be. However, he sensed that her regret on his behalf was genuine. If she'd been lying, her heart rate would have increased enough for him to detect it though not enough to show on a polygraph. During training, they were taught to control basic body functions: heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, even electro-dermal activity. A polygraph could easily be defeated, making it useless for people like Aaron and June because the increases were too small and insignificant for the machines to pick up.

"Ah-hah!"

"What?" Aaron stopped what he was doing to look at Harper's screen. He quickly scanned the information scrolling the monitor. "That's interesting."

Sheppard's voice came toward them, his footsteps mingling with Esposito's. "What's interesting?"

Peering over Harper's shoulder, the detective was none the wiser. "Yeah. So?"

"Now we know why some people who use Trance die or fall into a coma." Harper swiveled her chair so she could see all three men. "It was right there in front of us, but we were looking for something more complicated."

Aaron continued, "It's in your blood."

Next it was Harper's turn. "You see, the ABO blood group system is the most important blood type system or blood group system in human blood. The associated anti-A and anti-B antibodies are usually Immunoglobulin M or IgM antibodies, which are usually produced in the first years of life by sensitization to environmental substances such as food, bacteria, and viruses."

She paused to take a drink, and Aaron took up where she stopped. "Second to that is the Rh system. There are 50 antigens with the most significant Rh antigen being the D, because it's the most likely to provoke an immune system response of the five main Rh antigens. It's common for D-negative individuals not to have any anti-D Immunoglobulin G-IgG or IgM antibodies, because anti-D antibodies are not usually produced by sensitization against environmental substances. However, D-negative individuals can produce IgG anti-D antibodies following a sensitizing event such as a fetomaternal transfusion of blood from…"

Aaron paused for a breath giving Sheppard time to interrupt, his expression a little suspicious. "Are either of you related to someone by the name of McKay?"

Exchanging a puzzled glance with Harper who shook no, Aaron said, "No. Why?"

"Just curious."

Aaron wanted to laugh at Esposito's glazed expression, and though he seemed not to understand a word that was said, he proved otherwise with, "So, what you're saying is that a person's _blood type_ determines how their body will react to Trance?"

Sheppard added his own thoughts which were going in the same direction. "And mutations are completely random?"

Aaron shared a long, deadpan look with Harper. "Yes."

"Why couldn't they just _say_ that?" The Air Force officer said in an aside to Esposito who had come to stand beside Aaron. Not close, but close enough. They obviously hadn't taken his augmented senses into account, and this close, he could hear their heartbeats and smell the sweat as if it were a part of him. He wanted to ask them to back off, choosing to ignore it instead.

"We need to find the cure ASAP before Ryan dies or goes crazy. We're gonna take a look around. Check for booby traps. If we find anything…"

Esposito handed Aaron a headset. They did a sound check, Aaron nodding that he could hear the detective. "We'll give a shout if we find anything, and you do the same."

The two men moved into the dusky blackness that surrounded the work area, disappearing from sight, though not hearing range for the two Outcome participants. Eventually, they were far enough away that Aaron could ignore their whispered conversations about Harper and himself.

"Viraling off the chems was _not_ fun. I almost died. Literally." As she talked, Harper went to the living area and returned with two full bottles of water, handing one to Aaron. He nodded gratefully, popping the top and taking a long drink while she did the same. Sitting on the table next to him, she swung her feet. "My guess is that there were several doctors who were assigned to see to our physical health, and to keep any one of them from knowing everything about the program, they never spoke to or attended to anyone other than their assigned charges. Too bad they didn't show the same conscientiousness regarding our mental and emotional well-being."

Aaron had to agree with her there. The periodic psych evals were actually quite easy to fool due to his eidetic memory. He would've expressed his opinion, but Harper needed to talk and he was willing to listen. Stopping his work, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a small nod of encouragement. It also gave him hope. If she was still enough like _June_ for him to read her, then maybe a part of his old life existed within him.

"When I heard about the shooting, Dr. Ortiz's name wasn't announced as one of the deceased so I did some very intense checking. Because he wasn't an official member of the project, his name wasn't listed in any of their paperwork. I didn't know for certain that he would be able to help me, but my chems were getting low. As you can expect, I was desperate. Going back to the way I was prior to Outcome wasn't an option so I tracked him down. At first, he flat out refused to even acknowledge his association with the program. But, I'm pretty persuasive when I want to be."

A wry grin, accompanied by a snort, crawled up Aaron's face and Harper had the grace to return it. After all, she'd convinced him to have coffee with her when he'd been told in no uncertain terms to avoid becoming friendly with strangers at that point in his "treatment." And he'd tried. Really tried to do as his handler, Anamarie Hernandez said. Just go to the coffee shop, order a drink and a muffin then sit by the window and observe the people inside the store as well as those walking by.

_Try to imagine what their life is like, what it's like to __be__ that person and how you'd act if suddenly, you, Aaron, had to take their place, fit into their life without anyone noticing._

"Daniel-Dr. Ortiz was able to get his hands on everything he needed to help me. Because I was on the run, he let me stay with him for a few weeks after the viraling. We became…close, but I got restless and was afraid he'd be killed if someone came after me, so I left."

Mentally shaking his head, Aaron reflected that they'd both turned into a cliché by falling for their doctors. Not unusual by any means. At least there was one aspect of their lives that had turned out normal…ish.

"Within an hour of being injected with the virus, I got so sick my heart stopped. I was lucky that Daniel had a portable defibrillator and ventilator on hand or I'd be dead now."

"I was holed up in a cut-rate motel above a _siomai_ _stand_ in Manila_. Had some really bad dreams."_

_"__Do __not__ get me started on dreams. Sometimes they still…" She cut off and looked away, embarrassed at showing weakness. _Her hand lay on her thigh. Aaron took it in his and just held on, letting her know through touch that he shared the sensation and that she needn't be embarrassed with him. With a smile, she squeezed back and Aaron felt something stir inside, a rekindling of their friendship. Pulling away, she got to her feet and returned to the computer she'd been using.

Turning to face his computer, they both got back to work. Smiling to himself, Aaron realized that the feelings coming to life inside him weren't anything new, but long dormant emotions that he thought had died when he became Aaron Cross. Just like all those years ago, he again felt comfortable with having a genuine friendship with another person. Sheppard, Espo and Bourne aside, June was the first person he had been able to be himself with since the bombing in Ramadi.

His good humor drained away at the memory of the dream he'd awakened from during the night, just managing to keep from screaming himself awake, and in the process, awakening Sheppard and Espo as well. Eventually, he'd been able to go back to sleep, and thankfully, hadn't been plagued by more of the same.

The sensations of fear and anger were swept away way when the computers all shut down then came back up, now showing a timer. A voice he didn't recognize said a few words in Russian then it began counting down from ninety seconds.

~~O~~

Leaving Aaron and Harper to hack the computer, Sheppard and Esposito crept through the darkness coming to the living area. The bed was empty, bags of paper plates and microwave dinner boxes were piled in a corner. Clothing, dirty and clean, lay in two piles giving Sheppard the impression that the owner had given up on living a long time ago and was just marking time, unwilling or unable to hurry the process along by taking their own life. That type of person would probably go for suicide by cop rather than do the deed themselves. He didn't know if that made them really stupid or really smart. They were dead either way.

With his sniper rifle clenched in both hands, the light attachment piercing the darkness, Esposito's face was only partially cast in shadow giving his eyes an eerie appearance. Having worked with the man in Afghanistan, he knew his friend could be as dangerous as he looked at the moment.

They'd checked out most of the huge building and found nothing that would tell them who made Trance or why when Sheppard's headset crackled and Aaron's disembodied voice sounded in his ear.

"_Guys, we tripped a self-destruct program. Seventy seconds to get as far as we can before it blows!_"

Sheppard and Esposito didn't take the time to answer. They just took off for the nearest exit, hitting the door as his mental counter reached twenty seconds. No way they could get far enough away to avoid being killed. Didn't mean they wouldn't try. The data pad beeped in a pattern that Sheppard recognized. Taking the device from his back pocket, he touched a specific key as his mental counter reached zero.

~~O~~

"Go-go-go!" Aaron commanded though Harper was already several steps ahead of him and moving very quickly. They twisted and turned through the pallets of supplies, the exit just ahead of them as their time ticked away.

Harper opened the door and stopped to wait, motioning for him to hurry, as if he needed the encouragement. Behind him he heard, "_Desyat, devyat, vosem, sem, shest, pyat, chetiri, tri…_"

Outside, he wrapped his arms around Harper and bore them both to the ground with the hope that it would minimize their injuries from the explosion. They both grunted from the impact, Aaron immediately ducking his head and covering it and Harper with his free arm.

The immense boom nearly deafened the former Outcome agent and it had to have done the same to Harper, leaving their ears ringing. There was a moment of disorientation, the sounds and smells of the fire ending as quickly as it had come. The sudden quiet pushed against his sensitive eardrums in a second assault, the combination of the two giving him a headache.

A hand touched his shoulder and he looked into concerned faces he'd never seen before, backlit by bright lights accompanying an almost antiseptic smell. The mouths of the strangers moved, but he couldn't hear them, couldn't respond. It took all the willpower at his disposal to keep from blacking out. Even then, it wasn't enough. Aaron's muscles lost tension as his consciousness winked out.

~~O~~

Esposito and Sheppard ran as fast as they could through the dimly lit warehouse and out the door that materialized in front of them. Once outside, they only slowed down long enough to swerve around the rusted out dumpster. And even though they were out in the open, Esposito knew they had little to no chance of getting far enough away to keep from being injured or killed.

Chancing a quick glance over his shoulder, Esposito heard the explosion and saw the building's structure pushed outward as the rapid release of energy achieved by the explosives knocked both men off their feet. He heard Sheppard grunt at the impact, cry out in pain then…nothing.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

**The Iron String**

**Chapter 8**

High above the Earth in geosynchronous orbit, the _Hammond's_ second-in-command, Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Marks, heard the emergency transport signal at the same time his tactical officer did. He didn't have to give the order to transport as Saunders was already manipulating the controls at her fingertips with speed and precision. Bright streaks of light appeared in front of them and Marks prayed they wouldn't be attending the funeral of a fellow officer in the next few days.

Marks held his breath and got to his feet as the light faded. A series of thuds, the unmistakable sound of bodies falling, made him wince internally. Dreading what he might see, he and the bridge crew peered past the controls at the four bodies, three men and one woman, lying on the floor. Addressing the air, Marks said, "Medical to the bridge, stat!"

A gasp drew his attention to the fact that there were two people standing off to one side. A man and a woman, both dressed in shabby clothing, stared at him. The man said, "What was in that bottle, Charlie?"

The woman, Charlie, slowly shook her head. "I gotta get back on my meds, Reggie."

"Me too."

Over his shoulder, Marks said, "Saunders."

The tactical officer again hit her controls and the two homeless people disappeared. With an internal grin, he mulled over the fact that no one would believe their story about being transported to an alien spacecraft. His thoughts were again interrupted as a medical team rushed onto the bridge and immediately began working on their newest patients.

"Colonel Marks? That's Colonel Sheppard. I think the rest are civilians," the white clad medic said over his shoulder.

Marks was saved from making a smartass remark by moaning in four different tones. Then, Sheppard's voice, weakened by his current state, rasped out, "Sonofa*****!"

Sheppard ignored the medic's attempts to keep him in the prone position, rolling to his hands and knees then onto his backside when he couldn't get to his feet. Carefully keeping his face and tone neutral, Marks clasped his hands behind his back. "Welcome aboard, Colonel. I see you've brought guests."

~~O~~

Sheppard rubbed his head, finding a small lump on the back. His fingers came away without blood so it couldn't be too bad. "Thanks for the rescue, Marks. Where's Carter?"

"She's…" he indicated the others with his eyes, "…on a conference call, sir."

Beside Sheppard, Esposito rolled over and sat up, looking relieved that they'd not been killed in the blast…until he realized where he was. "What the ****, Sheppard?! You mean all that crap about space was true?"

"'Fraid so." To the female doctor checking on Aaron and Harper, Sheppard said, "What's their condition?"

The woman shrugged. "Nothing's broken. Bruises, contusions, scrapes, sore ribs, and a sprained wrist for the lady. We'll put everyone under the scanner and keep all of you overnight, just in case."

By now, Harper and Aaron were looking around with intense curiosity, but they didn't say anything. He should've known they would be more accepting when confronted with something outside their experience. From what Sheppard understood about Outcome and its agents, adaptability was a perk. They weren't asking questions, and that seemed like a good thing. At least for now. The questions would undoubtedly come later when they were back on Earth.

Aaron got to his feet, reached down to give Harper a hand up, both shaking their heads when the medics tried to lead them away. With a touch of humor, Sheppard told them, "The doctors here get a little cranky when they don't get their way."

"That means you'll be joining your friends in the medical bay, right, Colonel?"

At the sound of Carter's voice, Sheppard's back straightened as much as it could, and both hands attempted to find each other behind his back. His shoulder hurt from when he'd been thrown to the ground by the blast, though the smile stayed in place. "That's not necessary, Colonel. I'll be…"

Carter interrupted, stating firmly, "In the Infirmary. Want to introduce me to your friends, John?"

"Of course. Colonel Samantha Carter," he pointed to each in turn, "Detective Javier Esposito, NYPD, Aaron Cross and Harper Finley. Everyone, Colonel Carter. My boss."

Carter nodded and shook hands with each, Harper extending her left hand due to the injury to her right wrist. "Welcome aboard the _General George Hammond_."

Over their shoulders, Carter caught the doctor's eye. The woman gestured and her staff led the civilians down the corridor branching off to the left, the doctor staying behind to wait for Sheppard. When they'd gone, the ship's commander faced Sheppard again. "John?"

As befitted his rank as a full bird Colonel, Sheppard responded in kind to her use of his first name. "We didn't have time to get out of the blast radius, Sam. If you'd entered orbit even a few seconds later, we'd be extra crispy by now."

"So instead of permission, you're looking for forgiveness." Flicking her eyes side to side, she saw what Sheppard saw: The bridge staff hard at work and appearing to pay no attention to their conversation, though they both knew better. "General O'Neill isn't going to like this."

"Couldn't be helped." He paused when his ribs twinged, barely stopping himself from groaning. "The standard NDA?"

"Yes. And make sure they understand the import of breaking that agreement."

"Not a problem. Esposito's ex-Special Forces. I worked with him on an op in Afghanistan. Cross and Finley are former government agents. They won't say a word."

"See to it." Pointing a finger at him, Carter went to Marks' side saying over her shoulder, "He's all yours, Doc."

His smile turned up one side of his mouth. "Yes, ma'am."

Anxious to get going, the doctor tapped Sheppard on the shoulder, her arm sweeping through the air in an after you gesture. Without even a word of protest, he began walking, slowly until the doctor came alongside.

~~O~~

Lying in the hospital bed and doing his best to remain unaffected by his surroundings, Esposito kept his ears tuned to what people were doing and saying. It was like being dropped in a country where he didn't understand the language. To his right, Harper and Aaron were talking quietly with Sheppard. They thought he was asleep and he let them continue with that belief.

When Sheppard told them about space and traveling to other planets, in the back of his mind, one small part of him had believed every word. The rest of him tried to convince him that he really was asleep and this was all a dream. A weird, intense, freaky, lock-the-door-and-throw-away-the-key crazy dream.

"Stop pretending, Javi, and come join us." Esposito opened his eyes to find Aaron standing at his bedside with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "We've got something you're gonna want to see."

He sat up on the side of the bed and got to his feet. Aaron, Harper and Sheppard were grouped around a table, a monitor showing video taken with thermal imaging. Aaron tapped the keyboard and the video blurred and changed to a normal view of the building they'd only escaped with their lives because of the advanced tech the US government just happened to have in their possession. Esposito wanted to know _everything_, but he also didn't want to know _anything_. With a nonchalance he didn't feel, the detective stood behind his companions watching the fire department swarming around the three alarm fire that still raged. He could see SWAT, police and even a few wearing vests with the initials HLS. Homeland Security.

Something caught his eye. "Stop! Back it up a little…there. Now zoom in on that area." He pointed at the upper left of the display. Beckett, Castle, Gates and a few others were standing close together. In the foreground was Esposito's car now just a burned out shell. From the looks on their faces, they already knew he hadn't been in the car when it when up and were waiting to find out if the building was clear. Of course that would have to wait until the fire was out. Digging his cell from his back pocket, he rubbed a thumb over the keys. "I gotta make a call. Let them know I'm okay."

"Cell signals are blocked." Sheppard took him into an office and explained how to work the comm. "Just be careful what you say."

The door closed behind Sheppard and Esposito dialed a number he knew by heart. It was answered on the first ring.

"_Beckett._"

"Hey boss."

On the screen, he saw Beckett speaking to the others. "Espo! Where the hell are you? We thought you were dead."

Even though she couldn't see him, Esposito's expression showed guilt. "Can't say. How's Ryan?"

A sigh came through the phone. "_Awake and annoyed that the doctors won't let him leave yet._"

He paused, trying to decide how best to ask the next question. "Has he been experiencing any strange symptoms?"

"_Such as?_"

"Sensitivity to light, sound, that kind of thing."

The Beckett on the monitor scowled. "_Not that I'm aware of. Why?_" She took a few steps away from the others, her voice lowering to a whisper. "_Javi, your car is a burned out hulk. There's nothing left of it. What's going on? Are you into something that'll get you killed?_"

Sheppard came to the door. It was time to wrap this up for now. "Can't say. Uh, listen, Kate, I gotta go. Talk to you soon." And before Beckett could ask more questions he couldn't answer, or worse, put Castle on the line, Esposito disconnected the call.

Aaron widened the view again so they were looking at the scene from above. He was about to ask what next when Aaron stopped the video and zoomed in on a street view of the crowd. With a few taps, the blurred image came into focus on a mid-thirtyish man with dark hair, slightly hunched, observing the scene without expression. Esposito's take on the man was that he seldom smiled, if at all, and that he would be a formidable adversary.

There was something about the set of Aaron's posture. He knew this man, and that knowledge had come at a price, but for whom, there was only one way to find out. "You know him, Cross?"

"Yes. He doesn't look the same, but I'm certain that's Outcome 3."

Harper, her right wrist encased in a black brace, nodded at the screen. "I know him too, but as Peter Boyd. The shape of his skull is identical though he's had reconstructive surgery."

Aaron's voice lacked expression and that told Esposito that the incident had been traumatic for the man. "I thought he'd been killed when a drone took out the cabin in Alaska."

Though he hid it well, Esposito still saw Aaron's reaction to the name Harper mentioned. Filing that information away until later, he said, "We going back to, uh…" he gestured at the screen, indicating Earth, "…soon? Beckett says Ryan's awake and not experiencing any weird side-effects from Trance. At least not yet."

His friends had barely met Ryan, yet they were doing the best they could to save his life as if they'd known each other for years instead of hours. Wasn't that unusual. Esposito had known he could trust Aaron and Sheppard within minutes of their meeting in Fayzabad. The op they'd worked together hadn't gone like clockwork, but it had gotten the job done. The three of them had been celebrating with cold beers and _pulao_ with _naan_ when a CIA operative giving his name as Matteen Nazari had taken Aaron for a private talk. Esposito hadn't seen him again until just a few days ago.

Sheppard nodded. "The doc wants us to stay overnight. I can convince Carter to give the okay."

While Sheppard worked on securing their release, Esposito ignored the quiet talk going on between Harper and Aaron, taking this time to process the fact that everything that Sheppard had told him was true. This brought him to Aaron's confessions about the program he and Harper had been involved in. If one was true, that logically led to the conclusion that _both_ stories were true in spite of the absence of empirical evidence. And because Aaron's story was the more believable to begin with…his head began to throb, fatigue washing over him.

He hid a yawn and returned to his bed where he lay down with a groan as a medic came to his side to check on him. He refused pain meds, and in a few minutes, he was asleep.

~~O~~

With his friends looking over his shoulder, Aaron watched as the man he knew as Outcome 3 pushed his way through the crowd gawking at the first responders putting out the fire. His thoughts went back to the day in Alaska when the drone took out the cabin. He'd been as certain as he could be that his host had been killed. But the face on the monitor told another story, bringing with it a name: Peter Boyd. Was it just a coincidence that Marta's former live-in boyfriend shared that same name?

He doubted it.

Marta hadn't gone into specifics about her relationship with Boyd, just that they'd parted on less than amicable terms eight months or so before the wet team-and Aaron-had shown up at her home. She hadn't described Boyd, said what his business was or indicated that he'd been a part of Outcome. After all that happened to and between them over the years, he didn't believe that she would've left that part out. The only logical conclusion was that she didn't know. Now that Aaron knew of the existence of more than one doctor with the skills and knowledge to viral someone off the chems, he reasoned that each doctor had been assigned to care for specific participants to create a division of knowledge. If Marta didn't know the faces and designations of another's charges, they couldn't be compromised if she were captured and tortured for intel.

Outcome 3, Peter Boyd, or whatever name he was going by now, pushed his way through the crowd, walked past the cops guarding the perimeter and disappeared. Another figure followed him, the face obscured by a hood pulled low in front. Aaron saw that it was woman as she separated from the crowd. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.

A few minutes later, a car backed up and drove away. Even without the zoom, he could see that the license tag was covered. The make, model year and color of the vehicle didn't help either as it was one of the most popular in the state. Still, Aaron set the system to track it. He also used the single frame of Boyd's face to run his facial recognition program. Hopefully they'd have a better idea of where he went from here, and who his companion was.

Behind him, he heard Esposito return to the hospital bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Poor guy. Between them, Aaron and Sheppard had shaken Esposito's world view of what was and wasn't possible. Aaron wasn't worried about him though. Esposito was resilient and more than a little familiar with a non-disclosure agreement.

Aaron inserted the thumb drive he'd taken from the computer in the destroyed lab into the port on his left. He hadn't been able to download the entirety of the database, but hopefully there was enough for the doctors to analyze and formulate a cure for Trance. Just in case, he opened the file and quick scanned the contents. There was very little there that they didn't already know or at least suspect. But Aaron wasn't a doctor, though he did have a great deal of medical knowledge stuffed into his brain during training. Nothing that would help with this aside from the part about blood types.

Aaron rubbed a hand down his face to clear out the cobwebs. Didn't work. The injuries he sustained were taking their toll on his body. "With the advanced tech your people have, maybe they can find a cure. But the problem is we're not certain exactly how many people have used it and didn't report it. With the scant information we do have, there's no way to know what the long-term effects will be."

Leaning on the desk, Sheppard pointed at the thumb drive. "Give that to the docs. They'll figure it out."

Without responding, first Aaron then Harper and lastly, Sheppard, returned to their hospital beds, and just like Esposito, they were asleep within moments.

Carter came into the Infirmary a short time later, the doctor greeting her at the entrance. "_This_ is why we keep people over night."

"How long will they be out?"

"No telling. How they came away with minor injuries and no concussions is beyond me." She sighed and crossed her arms. "They got lucky."

Carter snorted. "They won't see it that way."

"As long as they stay put for another twelve hours or so, I don't care."

Nodding, Carter started away. "When Sheppard wakes up, send him to my office. He and I need to have a long talk."

~~O~~

Sitting in the front passenger seat of Sherry's car, Outcome 3, once known as Peter Boyd and now going by the name Michael Blanchard, stared out the window watching the people going about their daily lives as though nothing were different. And for them, nothing was. At least not yet. Once he set the next phase of his plan into motion, it would cause an international incident that would go down in history. And no one would be able to trace it to him because he didn't really exist. Hadn't existed legally since the day he joined Outcome.

When Byer approached him with the offer, it hadn't been a difficult decision to make. He had no family and no close friends. Nothing to set him apart from every other working stiff in his native country. Before the program meds, he'd done okay in the smarts department. Physically, he'd been average for his height, weight and age. After…the things he could do filled him with the drive to do and be more. It was as if nothing could touch him.

Then, he met Marta. Falling in love made him feel empowered and weak at the same time. As the months went by and the time for him to begin fulfilling his part of the contract with Byer neared, he dreaded the day when he would have to leave her. After they had spent the weekend touring Napa Valley sampling the different wines and even buying a few bottles to take home, on the plane ride back to Maryland, she'd asked him to move in with her.

Boyd had been proud of himself for not betraying his shock and embarrassment. While he'd been working out how to break up with her, Marta's thoughts had taken an entirely different track, and before he could stop himself, he said yes. They had spent their first night as a co-habiting couple curled up on the couch watching a documentary on Bigfoot and eating cold pizza with a bottle of the wine they brought back.

For the next six months, he'd been happier than at any other time of his life. It wasn't long before he began entertaining the idea of starting a family with Marta. The one thing that caused him to hesitate was the fact that neither of them had any idea what the other did for a living. Boyd knew she was virologist doing research of a highly classified nature. On the other side of that coin was his work with Outcome. From the start, he had intimated that he worked in international finance, a job that involved lots of overseas travel. He'd been injured on a mission to Moldavia, and told her it happened while he was rock climbing with a client. Which was only partially true.

"Michael? We're here."

Looking over at Sherry, he forced a smile. "Are you sure I'm not putting you out?"

"No. My roommate's gonna be gone for three months. You can use her room 'till you can find another place." She turned off the engine and reached into the back seat for her purse.

His cultured accent made a stark contrast to her Brooklyn. Yet another thing that set them apart. "That's generous of you, Sherry, but I'll only be in New York another couple of weeks."

They got out of the car and he followed her to the shabby second floor apartment. "Oh, that's too bad. I like workin' for you."

"Oh?"

She carried her purse through a door left ajar. When she came out, she'd changed into a uniform. "You're the first boss I had that didn't gimme grief about somethin'. You pay better too. Guess that's over now."

"Perhaps. I have money set aside. More than enough to help us get back on our feet. It's just a matter of finding the right venue to begin again. Do you have Internet access?"

Sherry's eyes lit up. "Yeah. Wi-Fi. My laptop's in the desk. I don't have a printer or nothin'. When I need to print somethin' I go down to the library."

Standing in the middle of the living room floor, Boyd took in his surroundings. Like the outside of the building, the inside needed work. The furniture was old and mismatched, though the room was neat as a pin. Attempts had been made to create a cozy environment though. A crocheted blanket lay over the back of the couch, framed movie posters hung on the walls and lush house plants sat amongst cheap knick-knacks and dog-eared fashion magazines.

"Make yourself at home. Haven't been to the store so there's not much in the 'fridge. I gotta work at the diner tonight. Be home around midnight. Want I should bring you a sandwich or somethin'?"

The thought of eating anything caused his stomach to heave. Forcing the bile down, he again managed a smile. "That's not necessary. If I get hungry I'll go out."

"Guess I should give you a key then, just in case." Going into the kitchen, Sherry came back with two keys attached to a small LED flashlight keychain. "The square one's for the door downstairs and the other is for the front door."

Taking a pad from the end table, she scribbled on the top page. "Here's my cell number, if you need anything."

"Thank you again."

She waved away his gratitude. "It'll be nice havin' someone to talk to. Rosa's been doin' a semester at one o' them fancy British schools. She's wicked smart. Me, I just barely graduated from high school. What about you? You're a doctor, right?"

"You could say that. Though most of my knowledge comes from on-the-job training and reading." A moment of awkwardness came to join them. "Sherry, if you could do anything you wanted to, if money weren't a consideration, what would you do?"

One side of her mouth turned up in an ironic smile. "You mean 'sides waitin' tables and workin' as a drug mule?"

"I'm serious."

Looking down at her feet, she shrugged. "Once thought I'd like to be a dancer, but I kinda got two left feet." Gesturing at the plants, she said, "Maybe open a flower shop or even a bakery. I make a mean apple cobbler. And I been told my chocolate lava cake could turn a sinner into a true believer."

The last was accompanied by her hands folding as if in prayer, startling a laugh out of him. "Then I'll have to persuade you to make it for me."

"Well, you can never go wrong with chocolate." Giving him a shy smile, she zipped the front of her jacket. "I gotta go. See ya."

"Good night."

When the door closed behind her, Boyd locked the deadbolts, all three, then went into the bedroom where he would be sleeping for the next few weeks. They'd stopped on the way so he could buy clothes. He undressed and took a long hot shower.

Later, while rubbing his wet hair with a towel, he went to the window to stare up at the sky. Somewhere up there, someone was watching, waiting. Biding their time. And when they came for him, he would be ready.

**TBC**


End file.
